Harry Potter is Dead
by deepblue1028
Summary: One year after Harry's death, his friends still struggle to bring Voldemort down. Ginny, driven insane with loss and longing, holds on to the Resurrection Stone, unable to let Harry go. But Voldemort must be defeated - with or without The Chosen One. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

**Harry Potter Is Dead**

**Prologue**

**Grief**

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><p>Ron was not there. Thank god for that, Hermione thought. As much as she cared for him, she was afraid of what he might have done if he had seen the things that she had seen.<p>

She and Mr. Weasley Apparated to the rendezvous point in the dusty, abandoned attic of Weasley's Wizard Wheezed to find that their contact had not arrived yet. Neither of them had been happy about returning to this site, a place that had once been filled with memories of mirth and laughter, which now only brought to mind the pain of a wound that had not yet begun to heal.

George's bed had been stripped of its sheets, its mattress lying neatly against the wall opposite its naked frame; but at George's request, Fred's had been left exactly as it was the day the Weasleys had come to clear the last of their things from the long-abandoned shop. He had not bothered to make his bed, the last night that he had slept there, and a thick coating of dust covered the small table beside it. On top of which stood an old picture of the twins shooting away on the Hogwarts express, one of the experimental pranks the twins must have been working on at the time, and an old sock, forgotten in the rush to leave. Hermione watched Mr. Weasley warily as he leaned against the wall, suddenly several years older. He did not approach Fred's things, nor did he take his eyes off of them as the minutes ticked by.

"Cho should have been here by now." Hermione said at last in a feeble whisper. Mr. Weasley looked up at her as though he had just remembered that she was there.

"Yes, ah . . . " He seemed to bring his mind back to the task at hand. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He whispered back, pushing off of the wall and putting a hand up to his glasses, though there was no need to adjust them.

"Do you think something's happened?" Horrible images flashed through Hermione's mind. Not only had Cho Chang become valuable member of the Order of the Phoenix's resistance movement in the time since the Battle of Hogwarts, but in recent months, Cho had been very kind to Hermione. She did not want to think about what may have transpired since their last contact.

Mr. Weasley did not answer. Hermione could tell he wanted to give her some words of comfort, to tell her that Cho was probably just held up, but these were dark times. They could be sure of nothing.

Hermione looked at her watch. It was ten minutes past Cho's appointed arrival time; she was starting to worry. In desperation, Hermione peered though a crack in the boarded-up window and out onto the street, though she knew that Cho was due to Apparate directly to the attic. Both were fully aware that appearing in a crowded Diagon Alley, known to have previously fought alongside Harry Potter, could mean possible capture.

Hermione blinked. Diagon Alley had not been crowded in at least two or three years.

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione did not whisper; her voice quavered. "There are people out there. Crowds of them . . . all gathered around Gringotts."

It was not just the usual crowd of wandless beggars and the occasional dark wizard, only multiplied in numbers; instead a number of ordinary people ran about the alley. All wore fearful, even panicky expressions on their faces; they hurried towards the front doors of Gringotts, which Hermione could not see past the churning crowd. Newcomers stopped at the edge of the thick mass of people gathered around the grand white building, craned their necks to see what everyone was looking at, and then suddenly drew back, looking shocked, sick.

Mr. Weasley blinked in surprise. "What?" She moved aside to let him see, and after a good long look, when his gaze met Hermione's, it was just as confused as hers was. Both took turns squinting though the crack again, but could make no more sense out of it.

Then Hermione saw it. At the very edge of her possible line of vision, a trickle of dark red ran down the white marble steps. She stepped back.

"We need to see what's happened." She said. Mr. Weasley seemed to consider her statement, weighing their chances of being recognized before they could tell what had happened, in an instant. And then the two hurried down the steps as fast as they could, dark cloaks hiding their faces as best they could.

Some in the crowd did know who they were, however, almost as soon as they quietly exited the locked door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But no one reached out to grab them, or called for the nearest of Voldemort's supporters ( which Hermione suddenly realized were nowhere to be found ) - they fell back, letting the two wanted criminals though with somber, scared expressions.

With a horrible lurch in her stomach, Hermione suddenly understood a split second before the door came into her view.

A body hung from the large doors of Gringotts, pinned, Hermione realized with a jolt, by a large spike driven through its throat. Its head fell lolled downwards, so that its face was obscured by its untidy, matted black hair. The blood spattered the wall behind it, pooled at its feet, dripped down the steps . . . it matched the scarlet of its Gryffindor house robes in a sickeningly perfect way.

Harry.

Hermione felt the scream building in her lungs long before it tore from her lips, ripping at her throat, raw and painful. But she could not stop the sound, not until a trickle of blood touched her shoe and she choked on the noise, the piercing shriek catching in her throat. She made strangled, rasping noises but no coherent noise, not even another tortured scream, would come out of her. She fell to her knees and wept.

She was only vaguely aware of Mr. Weasley's similar reaction as she knelt there. The crowd all around them seemed to have vanished; there was only the three of them, as she gurgled and cried over Harry Potter's mangled, bloody body. She did not know how long she stayed there, incapacitated with grief; until suddenly Hermione lurched forward, propelled by the sudden desire to remove him from the door, to give him some dignity. She crawled up the steps, stumbling, the stone slick with red. She pulled the metal from his neck. Mr. Weasley, whom Hermione had not realized had followed her, caught him.

It was so horrible, what they had done to him; she had to look away, but Hermione's eyes seemed glued to the body; unmovable, taking in every terrible detail. The face was the only thing they had left untouched, the Death Eaters; so that this moment could be possible, so that Harry's friends would be sure that it was him and that he had been killed in the most brutal way possible. Its legs were broken; the chest open. Hermione could only manage to make herself turn so that she might vomit.

Mr. Weasley held the body in his lap, tears pouring openly down his face. But Hermione could not approach, could not bear being near. Did that make her a bad friend, that she could not bring herself to throw her arms around Harry's neck and weep beside him? Hermione could only think of one way to justify herself as she choked and spluttered, covered in blood. That was no longer Harry. That was his body.

Harry Potter was dead.

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><p><strong>The first chapter's a bit short, but it'll get longer, this is just sort of an introduction. And yeah, I actually have it all planned out and everything . I'm incredibly excited to be writing this.<strong>

**I'd also like to mention that this is based off of The World I Leave Behind, another Harry Potter fic. Look it up, it's brilliant. But I'm just letting everyone know, because a few points in the plot are a bit similar; I'm not plagarizing. There's a flashback scene in that story that runs a lot like this one, but I have changed a few things and given it my own spin. I promise, this is definitely the closest the two'll get :) ****I hope you enjoyed reading!**


	2. Empty Chairs

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 2 | Empty Chairs**

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><p>Breakfast in the Weasley household was typically a loud and messy affair; nine read-headed residents trudged around the kitchen in their pajamas, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and yelling hoarsely for someone to please pass the jam. Mrs. Weasley, outdoing herself as always, was up before all of them, laying out a multi-course meal for her seven children and loving husband to eat. "It's the most important meal of the day!" She chirped, bustling around the cramped space attending to various pots and pans, often finally settling down to grab some food for herself with a spatula still clamped in her hand.<p>

Once everyone got some food in their bellies, their moods considerably improved; soon the sounds of happy chatter filled the room as the family prepared for their day. Plates rattled as they were dropped, chairs scraped against the floor. Six large Weasley boys inhaled their food with both impossible noise and inhuman speed, and without making much use of the utensils neatly laid out on top of their still-folded napkins. Laughter issued in great bursts every now and again from one section of the table.

On this occasion, however, the Weasleys ate in complete silence.

George was certain that the dark thoughts that had been clouding his brain as he awoke that morning were hanging stormily over the rest of his family as well. There was no doubting that they all knew what was amiss, and yet no one could really bear to bring it up.

It was a year to the day since George's father had found Harry's body, nailed to the door of Gringotts bank, quite dead.

It was also true that the cheery mood that usually hung about the kitchen at breakfast time hadn't truly, fully, been present in about two or three years, but on this day the silence and the gloom was especially unbearable. Of the seven rickety seats reserved for the Weasley children, only four were occupied, one of which by someone who was not technically a member of the family. But even that didn't really count; Hermione Granger had always been so close to them, and had been staying with them for so long now, that she was already something of a second sister to George either way.

Bill and Fleur had been gone for quite a while, and for a happy reason anyway, and so the eldest brother's presence was missed the least. Charlie was currently staying with them at Shell Cottage, as were many Order members in hiding, but he had also been living away from home for such a long time that they did not miss him much either.

But there was a burning, vacant hole next to George. It had only been a few days ago, that day that was perhaps, at least for George, even blacker than this one. A year and six days since his twin had told his last joke, smiled his last smile, squeezed his brother's hand to show that he was indeed there for him - a year and six days since Fred had been struck down. And George had not been there. And he could have saved him, had he been there, but he was not . . .

George stopped himself. How long would it be until he could move on, if George continued to carry on like this? Would he fall to pieces every time he spotted Fred's empty chair, his empty bed, the empty space on George's left side that was once always occupied by his other half? He stopped himself from thinking about it, poured his energy into other things. It hurt to let go, of course it did. But the more tears George shed, the worse the pain seemed to become.

George looked at Ron. It had been a year since his best friend died; surely he was feeling just as horrible, probably worse, than George felt right now. Sure enough, Ron was focusing so intently on his bacon and eggs as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. George thought he aught to have been wolfing down several helpings of food at every meal this week, on account of the fact that Ron always seemed to eat his emotions. But on this morning, Ron's grayish face stared down at his food with an expression akin to having just been told that he had contracted a deadly disease. Hermione sat next to him, her face colored not only with sadness but with worry for Ron, whispered to him in an effort to try and get him to eat. The tiny bite of egg that Ron took seemed to make him queasy and he pushed the plate away.

George remembered Ron's reaction when their father and Hermione had come home from Diagon Alley in tears. Mr. Weasley had been out in the garden with the body, not wanting to bring him into the house, when Hermione stumbled through the door. It was the middle of a meal once more; the Weasley family was crowded around the table for lunch, their conversations dying instantly as soon as they saw Hermione's face. Ron stood up. She immediately collapsed into his arms, letting out a fresh set of wails. She was no doubt dreading the moment when she would have to inform him of the terrible news - he had been closer to Harry than anyone there, possibly more so than anyone ever had been. Ron, just as confused as the rest of them, tried desperately to calm Hermione down, but she could make no sound other than choked wails. And tears. She produced buckets of tears.

"Hermione!" Ron said loudly, utterly bewildered. "Hermione, just bloody tell me!"

She seemed to finally come to her senses. "I'm s-sorry," Hermione lifted her head from where she had buried it in Ron's sweater. "I - I just - " But her words stuck in her throat. She could not say it.

Ron held her at arm's length. "You're covered in blood." He said. "Did they know you were coming? Was there a fight? Hermione, did those bastards hurt you?" She shook her head, but Ron seemed to suddenly realize that his father should have been back with her as well. "Where's dad?" His face darkened.

Hermione's gaze shifted from Ron's face to the door, and George got up. The rest of his family rose behind him; his mother put a hand over her heart. It seemed to be an eternity, that walk between the kitchen table and the back door, which still hung slightly ajar. What would he find in the front garden? His father's lifeless body? An army of Death Eaters? Voldemort himself, proclaiming victory?

And then the limp form of Harry Potter, cradled so delicately in Mr. Weasley's arms, came into view.

"What is it, George?" Ron asked, trying to see past him. Words failed George. He turned around, looking into his brother's eyes, his mouth opening and closing. "George, what the bloody hell is it?" Ron said angrily, and he pushed past George, who hung back limply, shocked.

The Weasleys pushed through the door, eyes falling on the body of the Chosen One, their rallying point, their one chance against Voldemort. The little boy they had taken in at eleven years old, who had been like a son and a brother to each of them. Dead.

His mother let out a wail and dropped to her knees; Percy knelt down to comfort her, screwing up his face as if he had just been hit with a painful jinx.

But Ron was the worst. Hermione clutched at him, both to keep herself from bursting into tears again, and to keep Ron from losing it. He stood stonily over his best friend's body, rage pouring from him like heat.

"How did he get like that?" Ron said quietly.

Hermione looked up at him. "We - we Apparated to the attic like we were supposed to, but Cho didn't - didn't arrive . . . we saw this crowd around Gringotts through the window, all gathered around - " Once more, Hermione could not finish, and she burst into fresh tears.

Ron pulled Hermione even closer, his face contorted with pain and rage. For several moments they just stood there, drawing stength from one another. But Ron's anger was building. "The bastards!" He suddenly yelled. Ron shook very badly. His hands were fists. "I'LL KILL THEM!"

"Ron . . . "

"We'll go now, storm the castle! I'll kill them! I'll kill them all! You-Know-Who won't know what's coming! I'LL KILL THE BASTARD! FOR HARRY!"

Hermione had released him, eyes flicking back and forth from Ron to her hands, which were very red. The air was boiling. "Ron, you mustn't get angry! It - it hurts for all of us! Please," her tone was suddenly soft, pleading. "Look at what you're doing," The tears in Hermione's eyes shone brightly, flickering weirdly in the visible heat that was pouring from Ron.

"You're not angry?" Ron shouted at her. "He's _dead_ and you don't want to - " The grass at Ron's feet caught fire. Hermione shrieked. She fumbled with her wand, fingers shaking, as she pulled it out and extinguished the fire. Now a perfect circle of charred earth ringed Ron. The fire seemed to have made him come to his senses; he no longer shook or emitted heat, and looked rather shocked that he had let himself loose control so completely.

Hermione lowered her wand. They made eye contact; her eyes were sad. Ron seemed to apologize with a look, because a moment later the two were embracing again, rocking slowly with grief. They understood each other so completely, George marveled, that they didn't even need words.

"George," His mother's voice cracked, having not been used since the night before. It startled George, pulled suddenly from his dark thoughts, and he turned quickly towards the noise. Mrs. Weasley gestured weakly to a small wrapped parcel of food inside of a basket at the center of the table. "Will you bring her breakfast today? She must miss you, it's been a few days."

George had not eaten much, but was not at all hungry. He nodded silently and stood up - his chair gave a loud creak, and scraped gratingly against the scuffed floor, the sound unwelcome in the dead silence - and grasped the package. Without any other words George set up the stairs.

He wondered how it had come to this - scheduling visits to her room beforehand like this, as if she was some sort of mental patient - as he climbed slowly. It was only his sister. It was only Ginny.

George knocked softly on her door. "Ginny? Ginny, I've got your breakfast, are you hungry?"

She was sitting in the middle of the floor, her bed bare, the blankets spread out underneath her like a picnic blanket. Not a single wrinkle or fold disturbed the flat of the various cloths; she had probably spent hours carefully positioning the corners of each sheet and pillowcase so that they aligned perfectly.

Ginny herself was cross-legged, wearing a baggy nightshirt that had once belonged to Harry, and before that, his cousin Dudley. It was her favorite thing to wear. Her hair had not been brushed since the bad dreams of the previous night had driven her into her mother and father's bed for the third time that week. She had obviously tried to do it up herself; it hung in a frizzy mess around her face, a tangled chunk pulled on top of her head by a loose hair tie. Ginny's hands were balled together in fists. Her eyes were closed.

"Shhh. George, I'm thinking." Ginny said. It was a moment before she peeked at him out of one eye and offered him a devilish grin. "Play that game with me again."

This was George's invitation to enter. He smiled at her. "All right. You've got three guesses. Would you like me to give you a hint?"

Ginny nodded her head. She shifted from crossed legs to leaning close to him, legs folded together underneath of her in a kneeling position, interested.

"All right . . . Mum's got some fruit in here, and some eggs, and you know what's made of bread and lays eggs . . ."

"Animal toast!" Ginny cried.

"That's right!" George grinned, and she positively glowed. He ruffled her hair. "On the first try! How did you know?"

Ginny said nothing, but beamed up at him, cheeks flushed with pride.

She had been eating the same breakfast every day for a year.

"Can I sit with you?" George asked, and Ginny nodded, closing her eyes and resuming her meditative position. George lowered himself down next to her, but in a flash, Ginny's eyes were wide open, frenzied.

"NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! NOT THERE! NO!" In the amount of time it would have taken George to say one word, Ginny's many frantic screams had already tumbled out of her mouth. She was breathing heavily, eyes wide with fear and madness.

"All right, all right!" George corrected his mistake as soon as he possibly could, and settled himself carefully across from Ginny. "Is this better?" He asked tentatively before sitting this time. The mad, hungry look in her eyes was at its least unsettling. She ignored him at first; a twitching hand immediately repairing the wrinkles her brother had made as he stood up. And then she stared at him as if he had just murdered someone. Then her eyes flicked back down, and her body bent inwards, muttering to herself. A tear leaked from one eye, but she caught it determinedly.

George would not say that his little sister made him worry. Made him afraid. It was Ginny; the sister he had loved since her birth. She was still the same in there somewhere, still the girl he knew. Still the girl he loved. His stubborn, tomboyish, and unstably insane little sister.

"Ginny . . . please eat." George said gently.

She looked up, stared at him for a moment. "It was a mistake. You didn't mean it. But you were mean. Say sorry."

"I'm sorry." Years of lying to teachers about his involvement in school pranks had made George an expert liar, and he was glad for that in this moment; because Ginny considered him for a second, tilting her head to one side, her hair falling this way and that, and then she nodded. While one hand remained balled in a fist, the other snaked into the wrapped parcel and pulled out a rabbit-shaped piece of toast and a jar of jam.

He was forgiven. George smiled and pulled out his wand, the sight of which made Ginny's eyes light up. As she ate George made the little toast-animals float around the room, dancing and wriggling, holding Ginny's rapt attention as she chewed. They laughed and smiled and tried to catch them as the whizzed above their heads.

Half an hour later Ginny was done, and George cleaned up her mess and packed it back into the parcel.

"That was yummy." Ginny said.

"Yes, it was," George replied. He stood up. "Do you want me to read you a book?"

She shook her head. "No. Go."

"You could come downstairs."

Ginny stared up at him, eyes full of sudden fear. "No," She said. "No, I couldn't do that!" Her tone suggested that this was some impossible feat; only someone crazy would dare try it. "Go."

She was adamant.

George hated seeing her like this. George hated what she had become. Trapped in her own little world. It was torture. He smiled again at her, the gesture failing to cover up he feelings and appearing sad and lonely on his face. "You just tell me if you need anything, okay?" He said as he left.

But she merely nodded, legs crossed again, eyes closed. Back in her trance.

"I love you," George said as he closed the door.

Ginny waited until his slow, somber footsteps were no longer audible before speaking.

"I'm sorry, Harry, he didn't mean to sit on you, he didn't see you there . . . I hate George! He should have seen you! Rude!" Ginny huffed, eyes fixed on a patch of air next to her that was quite empty. "He's always playing jokes, doesn't care if I don't like them . . . you're not hurt, are you? Please, don't be hurt, then I'll have to yell at George, George is nice, he brings me animal toast . . ."

"It's fine, Ginny." Harry said. His translucent, insubstantial body did nothing to ruin the blanket's perfect flatness as he moved to comfort Ginny. "It's going to be all right." He could not touch her in the truer sense of the word, but Harry had found that if he held up his arms more so than rested them on her shoulders, they did not pass through her. The slight warmth that she received was sometimes the only thing that could calm her when she was deranged.

Sure enough, her breathing slowed, and some of the confusion and pain that had clouded Ginny's eyes for a year faded away.

And then Ginny leaned into Harry's quite-dead body, and she slid right through him and hit the ground with a hard bump. Her fingers clutched the Resurrection Stone so tightly that it cut into her palm, and she burst into tears.


	3. Dinner Guests

**Harry Potter Is Dead**

**Chapter 3 | Dinner Guests**

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><p>The morning dawned bright and cold, unusual for the end of spring; the sky was a bright, opaque gray and the air carried the scent of rain. Hermione had been in the habit of waking up with the sun for a while, and even if there was no sun to be seen, she assumed she was awake before anyone else. But Hermione smelled cooking bacon as she stepped quietly down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. <em>Mm, <em>she thought, _Mrs. Weasley must be up early today, too._

It was not Mrs. Weasley standing over the stove when Hermione stumbled into the kitchen.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, caught completely off guard. "What are you doing?"

He turned around, a spatula in his hand, and looked at her with pretend confusion. "What, I'm not allowed to make breakfast every once in a while?"

Hermione was still flabbergasted. "You never cook. Or get up before eleven if you can help it. " She said incredulously. Ron was the person Hermione would least suspect would ever want to do either of these things - she'd never say it to his face, but over the years Ron had continually shocked her with better and more impressive displays of laziness.

Ron turned slightly red. "Well, I can if I want to." he said defensively. "And besides . . . everyone's still asleep. We've got the whole house to ourselves. Er, the kitchen, at least." Ron said this very quickly, and quite suddenly Hermione realized that he had woken himself up at sunrise just because he knew that she did the same thing every day.

The puffs of smoke curling off of the bacon distracted Hermione from Ron's blushing face for a moment. "Ron, you're burning breakfast," she pointed, and he jumped around, fiddling with the dial on the stove without a clue what he was doing. "Here, let me help." She laughed. Hermione turned the stove off, picked up the pan, and dumped the black bacon in the trash bin. She raised an eyebrow, but her eyes were smiling. "Let's try again, all right?"

Hermione put a few strips of fresh bacon in the pan and placed Ron's hand on the spatula. She curled her fingers around his and showed him the proper way to do it; soon the kitchen was full of the smell and the sound of cooking bacon.

Hermione was very aware of how close Ron was; they were pressed against one another, Hermione in between Ron and the stove. He had a hand resting on her waist as they flipped the bacon, and they swayed slightly, smiling. She looked upwards, forgetting all about the pan and the bacon, and kissed him. They broke apart, both very pink and very giggly, only when they heard footsteps a floor above. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley emerged in the kitchen a moment later. They stopped when they saw Ron and Hermione by the stove.

"Oh - sorry - Arthur, we're intruding - we'll just head upstairs for a minute - " Mrs. Weasley said.

"Mum!" Ron complained, blushing heavily. Hermione suddenly realized that she and Ron were still sandwiched together, and they hurriedly stepped away from one another. The pan of bacon came into view. "We made breakfast." Ron offered feebly. The second batch of bacon, forgotten on the stove, was not quite as blackened as the first had been, but was fairly close.

Hermione put it on a plate. "It looks delicious." She said, and Ron grinned at her.

An hour the kitchen slowly filled with hungry Weasleys. Although Mrs. Weasley had once again prepared a feast for breakfast, Ron and Hermione smiled as they shared the plate of shriveled, burnt bacon. They happily munched on their breakfast, despite the taste, like it was a wonderful inside joke.

And then the fire flared bright green.

At once the talk died down, as Kingsley's head appeared in the grate. Mr. Weasley stood up and approached, his expression full of fear. The Weasleys said nothing, waiting for Kingsley to drop a bomb on them. Had there been an attack?

Kingsley's head looked tiredly around at the kitchen. He had dark circles around his eyes. "Sorry, Arthur," his deep voice boomed. "I'm interrupting, but this is important. Old Mal Millay's place has just been found."

Groans and gasps of shock echoed through the kitchen. Mallory Millay had been in the Order since it was started twenty five years ago. She was older than anyone else on their side and arguably the kindliest. In light of their defeat last year, many of the Order's allies' identities were discovered; most of them lost a safe place to hide. Mal had opened her doors to whomever needed a home, and her house had become a sanctuary for Order members on the run.

"She went to town for groceries," Kingsley continued, "Never came back. Those Muggle law-keepers reported a struggle in the cereal aisle and she hasn't been seen since. They probably tortured the whereabouts of the safe house out of her, that's the only way they'd have been able to get in."

Kingsley allowed the Weasleys a moment of defeated silence. Shaking his head, he continued. "There were people staying with her that managed to get away. We were wondering if they could stay here, just for a few weeks, at least until we can find them a permanent place."

"They can stay as long as they need." Mrs. Weasley said firmly. She was very pale.

Kingsley nodded. "Thanks, Molly, Arthur. It's a big help. I'll send them along." His head vanished from the fire, but the eerie green glow still lingered as the fire died down, casting weird shadows across the fearful, saddened, and stony faces of the people congregated in the kitchen. And then the fire flared up again, and a body appeared, spinning in the grate.

Luna Lovegood stepped neatly out of the fire, for once, her indifferent attitude strangely absent. She was covered head to toe in bleeding wounds and large bruises, and she was not smiling serenely as she once always had. She looked back at the fireplace, the flames inside glowing green again, politely refusing Mrs. Weasley's attempts to doctor her wounds.

Dean Thomas stumbled into the kitchen, covered in soot but not nearly as badly hurt as Luna. He coughed and moved away from the fireplace, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "Thanks," he croaked, but did not smile. Dean leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

Hermione was struck with a sudden, terrible thought. She looked up at Ron with wide eyes. "How many people were staying with Mal?" she asked with worry.

"Er . . . "

The sound of a crying baby filled the room. Andromeda Tonks and baby Teddy stepped out of the flames. She was desperately trying to quiet her grandson, but even the child sported several tiny cuts and bruises. Andromeda whispered and cooed, covered in much worse injuries, but poor Teddy screamed and wailed terribly.

Mrs. Weasley hurried forward. "Oh, shhh, Teddy, shhh . . . " she tried in vain. She turned worriedly to his grandmother. "I have dittany in the pantry, Andromeda, let's get him cleaned up." The two hurried off. A few minutes later, Essence of Dittany administered to his cuts, Teddy's cries subsided to fussy sobs.

Hermione turned her attention back to the fire, waiting for it to flash green and tall again. But no more people stepped out of the grate. They waited a minute, anxiously, until Dean finally spoke up, his eyes still closed and his voice very hoarse.

"There's no one else." He said.

"But wasn't Neville staying there? And - and - " George stopped himself.

"Seamus, yeah." Dean replied. A very long moment later, he finished, "He's dead."

A heavy silence fell over the kitchen. Luna put her arm around Dean, who stared at the ground, his face contorted in such a mask of anger and pain that Hermione had never seen before. Actually, only once before, now that she thought about. On the face of the person whose hand she squeezed now. She looked up at his face, but Ron did not meet her eyes, looking at Dean. His expression said that he knew everything that Dean was feeling right now.

"I'm sorry." Mr. Weasley said finally, with all the warmth and understanding of a father that had lost a child. "I'll show you up to your room, if you like." He offered, and Dean nodded.

"I'll go with you." Luna said. Hermione knew that if anyone could calm down someone who was angry, or hurting, it was Luna. She was the best at this sort of thing. Without another word, Mr. Weasley led the two up the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda had returned. Teddy was nestled in his grandmother's arms, sucking quietly on his thumb, though the tear tracks were not yet gone from his little face.

"What - what happened?" Ron asked Andromeda quietly.

Andromeda looked at him, took a deep breath, and began. "Death Eaters. They surprised us; set the house on fire. We were fighting them off, but there were too many of them. Neville and Seamus told us to grab brooms, use the Floo, get away. They'd distract them, they said. The house was about to come down, so we didn't have much time. Didn't want to, but he pushed us into the fireplace, he did . . . and just then, Seamus . . . " Andromeda paused, closed her eyes for a moment, and then continued. "When I looked back, poor Neville was holding off at least ten, bravest thing I've ever seen. But he couldn't do it. I don't know if they took him back, or if he's - if he's - " Tears leaked out of Andromeda's eyes. Mrs. Weasley handed her a tissue. "Oh - thank you, Molly . . ." She blew her nose loudly with one hand. Teddy laughed at the noise. Andromeda attempted to control herself, for the baby's sake, and smiled down at him as best she could. Mrs. Weasley patted her back.

"I'm sure we have an old crib in the shed somewhere, Andromeda, why don't we go look for that . . . "

The two women left the room, leaving Hermione, Ron, and George standing in the kitchen with an enormous breakfast that none of them wanted to eat.

* * *

><p>Dean did not emerge from his room until much later that day. Hermione noticed that Dean, though distant, seemed much calmer than he had been when he arrived, no doubt thanks to Luna's uncanny understanding of death. After, he sat on the sofa with his hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, staring at the fireplace for a long while.<p>

A little while later, Hermione came down the stairs to find the living room empty but for Dean and Andromeda, who sat together on the couch. Andromeda had a hand on Dean's shoulder and was talking soothingly to him. Hermione could not see his face.

On the floor beside Andromeda's leg, Teddy gave a fussy wail. Andromeda attempted to attend to Teddy with one hand, focused on Dean, but could perform neither task effectively at the same time. Hermione stepped in, scooping Teddy up in her arms. "I've got him." Hermione said quietly, and Andromeda gave her a grateful smile and turned back to Dean.

Hermione headed out the back door, clutching Teddy's hand. "Let's go play outside! Would you like that, Teddy?" She said.

He blinked innocently up at her, but smiled when they exited the house. The rainclouds that had hovered ominously over them at sunrise had blown away by now. All that was left was a few puffy white clouds and a warm, summery breeze that gently pushed and pulled the branches of nearby trees. A butterfly flew past Teddy's head, and he laughed, trying to catch it in his fat little fist.

Hermione and Teddy had not been playing for long when they screen door bumped shut again. Hermione looked up from the ladybug she and Teddy had been examining and saw Ron approaching. She smiled.

Ron sat down in the grass next to her. They stayed there for a while, watching Teddy toddle around the bushes, who looked poked bugs curiously and sniffed flowers until pollen coated his nose. Ron and Hermione snuggled close, but did not speak; neither wanted to disturb the quiet peace. The setting sun cast a golden light over it all; Hermione could have stayed there forever, basking in the dying light, just watching the world move on. For a while all of the terrible things that had happened since Voldemort's return vanished.

After quite some time, Ron took a deep breath and broke the silence. "What do you think," Ron began slowly, "About . . . us?"

Hermione looked up at him, brows furrowed at the vague question. "What do you mean?"

Ron shrugged. It seemed he was having difficulty finding the right words. "Well . . . you know. There's Voldemort and everything, and we don't know if - what's going to happen, if we're gonna . . . end up like Harry - "

"Don't say that." Hermione said softly, cutting him off.

They were silent once more for another long period of time. Ron was watching Teddy intently, his expression soft, as the little boy stuck his hand in an old Wellington boot and waved it around.

"You ever want to have kids?" Ron said absently. He did not look at her, and was trying very hard to sound casual, but he was blushing.

Hermione tilted her head. "Yes, I think so . . . yes, I would." she said. There was another pause. "What, do you mean with - with - "

"No." Ron said, so quickly that Hermione wondered if he had even thought about the answer before he said it.. The red flush on his cheeks spread all over his face.

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "Oh."

"I'm - I'm sorry," Ron stammered, if possible, even redder than before. Hermione, her thoughts momentarily dancing away from the embarrassing subject matter of their conversation, suddenly wondered if that was the first time she had ever heard Ron say those worlds.

The quiet that followed was not the peaceful bliss that it had been before. Both Ron and Hermione were burning scarlet, and they shifted uncomfortably, neither sure what to say.

"Even after all this practice," Ron said, breaking the silence. "I still always manage to make a complete arse of myself in front of you. Every bloody time."

Hermione giggled, and she could feel Ron relax beside her.

"Things could have turned out worse." Hermione said.

"Worse?" Ron looked at her incredulously, but he was smiling. "How could it have been worse! It took me a good seven years to sort out that I liked you!"

Hermione blushed, but laughed a little in spite of herself.

He was grinning, but as Hermione watched, Ron's expression changed, slowly becoming serious. He shifted his weight, so he was turned towards her, fixing his eyes steadily on hers.

"So, um, Hermione - " Ron began, but at that moment the back door banged open and Mrs. Weasley emerged, a large, tottering stack of china plates hovering behind her.

"All right, you lot!" She barked, "Everyone grab something and get it outside, God knows I do enough around this house and I could do with some help!"

"Mum . . . " Ron began, but she cut across him once more.

"Hard work is good for you!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Now help your brother get a table out here so I can put these down!"

He and Hermione hurried inside to help everyone set up for dinner. Half an hour later, an absolute feast had been laden out apon several mismatched coffee tables pushed together. Many wooden chairs from the kitchen as well as armchairs pulled from the living room were all pushed up against the tables, each filled with a happily chatting occupant. Percy had suggested they wait until Mrs. Weasley returned from inside before they started eating, and while Ron stared hungrily at his food and opened his mouth to protest, Hermione nudged him to remind him of his mother's relatively short fuse that night.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to have calmed down considerably, however, because she returned from inside with an unexpected guest. Ginny.

Ginny walked slowly, taking delicate steps, as if she was walking on glass. The shirt of Harry's that she wore constantly was remarkably gone, replaced by a rather frilly dress, inevitably of Mrs. Weasley's choosing, which looked as if it belonged to a girl several years younger than Ginny herself. Her hair was combed, and overall she looked quite healthy. Hermione remarked at what a miracle it was that Mrs. Weasley had been able to coax Ginny outside of her room for the first time in weeks, even to get her out of Harry's old clothes. But there was still that deadened, spacey look in Ginny's eyes that Hermione wasn't sure would ever go away, however normal she might look at the moment.

"We have someone who'd like to join us tonight, everyone! Ginny, will you sit down, please, dear?" Mrs. Weasley guided Ginny to an empty seat and set her down gently, unhooking her arm from her daughter's elbow. She poured herself wine in a plastic cup and timidly sat down in the next chair over.

Eight wide smiles beamed at Ginny from all directions, who merely looked innocently back at them, and pleasantly confused by all the attention. She did not see past their large grins, did not see the desperateness in their eyes like Hermione could. Each of them was very nervous about having Ginny there. It was like having a ticking time bomb sitting at the dinner table - say the wrong thing, and she'd explode. None of them knew what would trigger a fit, or when. _If, _Hermione reminded herself. _This could very well end up just fine. She's not guaranteed to start yelling . . ._

And so dinner wore on, like some sort of bizarre game. Conversation was sparse and strained, centered around Ginny.

"Look, Ginny, a robin, you like those, remember?"

"Are you hungry, Ginny, dear? Do you want some more potatoes? No, of course, you don't need to eat them if you don't want to . . ."

"Did you like the book I read you yesterday, Ginny? Do you want to tell Andromeda here about Babbity Rabbity?"

She sat through the meal without saying much, focusing on playing with her food and being rather despondent and quiet despite the many attempts to drag Ginny into innocent, friendly conversation. But she merely smiled weakly or nodded her head in response to most questions, often ignoring an inquiry altogether. It was not until Ron began to chat with George about Quidditch that she looked up from her plate, eyes rather wide, and suddenly engaged herself in the conversation.

" . . . but they've got Finchley now, he's got more talent than the Cannons've seen in years!" Ron was saying.

"Finchley might be the best man on the team, but he's still terrible by normal standards. It's no wonder the Falcons gave him up." George snorted, taking a swig of grape juice and grimacing at either the rather sour taste, or the memory of Finchley's evidently horrendous playing years with the Falcons.

"They'll make the playoffs at least. Maybe even the quarter finals!" Ron's voice trailed off wistfully, and George snorted into his drink.

"I think they've got a chance." Said Ginny suddenly. The table got very quiet. Ron swiveled around to look at her.

"Yeah," He said. A smile slid onto his face. "Yeah, and Gudgeon is getting better, he actually caught the snitch last month, but they were already down by four hundred . . ."

"But they'll be up against the Arrows next week, d'you think they can manage?"

"Yeah, 'course . . . "

Hermione had no leads as to how Ginny knew that the Chudley Cannons were playing the Appleby Arrows in a week's time when she had been shut up in her room for ages, but at that moment she didn't really care. For the first time in a long while, Ginny was acting like her old self again. Soon she was not only casually chatting with Ron, but with George and Mr. Weasley as well, even Percy, happily discussing quaffles and bludgers in a way they hadn't in years. Hermione could see that everyone was nervous at first, watching their words, frightened that the bubble might burst at any moment and Ginny would start to yell. But as the conversation continued on and Ginny was nothing but her old self, they relaxed. Even Mrs. Weasley, who had anxiously watched Ginny much longer than anyone else, slowly began to laugh along with the rest of her family.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting red and orange and gold over everything until it finally slipped behind the treeline. Fireflies hung low, and the purples and blues of evening set in. A warm breeze tossed the leaves on the trees, sending spring's last flower petals drifting over the table. Its occupants ate and drank until they were all full to bursting, but stayed at the table long after all the food was gone; laughing and talking, heartened by Ginny's sudden return to normality.

" . . . so Bagman's got the _entire Japanese national team_ wandering around the Ministry, a _hall down from the Minister's office,_ asking people where the Quidditch pitch is!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.

The table burst into raucous laughter. Ginny giggled the hardest and the longest, and grinning long after everyone had clamed down. The pitchers of grape juice were empty by now; still thirsty, Ginny downed her mother's drink when she wasn't looking. George winked at his sister from down the table and Ginny grinned.

"Did they ever find the stadium?" Luna asked.

"Oh, yes, Bagman sorted it all out in the end. Never seen Fudge yell like that before, though, he was always so good-natured back then." Mr. Weasley chuckled. "But I pity those poor people on level one trying to interpret what on earth those Japanese were trying to say. I think Shizuka Wantanabe was the only one who knew English on that team, definitely not well, though. Apparently they were directed to the loo several times, don't know _what _got mixed up there . . . "

The Weasley's back garden echoed with laughter once more. Ginny, whose cheeks were very red, looked over at her father, eyes alight.

"Did they step in the toilets?" Ginny giggled. "The ones that flush you down the drain? Harry said - " She froze. The lingering laughter died immediately, and suddenly Ginny burst into hysterical tears.

"Ginny, dear, please calm down, we're here for you." Mrs. Weasley said gently, but she was clearly alarmed, eyes showing that she feared the worst. She laid a hand on Ginny's elbow, but Ginny jerked back as if she had been shocked.

"NO!" Ginny shrieked, her eyes wild once more. The warmth and happiness of just a moment before had vanished as it had never been, and a chill silence stilled the table's occupants. Ginny's screams pierced the icy air. "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY! I'VE GONE AND TOLD THEM!" A shaking hand reached up to her hair, pulling at it. She was staring at an empty patch of air, her face screwed up with rage and pain.

"Ginny, it's all right," Ron began calmly, rising from his seat, hands half-raised in surrender. "Just calm down . . ."

He tentatively approached, but Ginny leapt away from him, toppling out of her chair and crawling backwards on the ground. Her little girl's dress was torn, her hair a mess; tears poured from her face. "STAY AWAY FROM ME! YOU WON'T TAKE HIM, I WON'T LET YOU, I NEED HIM!" Ginny yelled and yelled until her face was purple, rocking and crying. Her hands were balled into shaking fists.

The rest of the table had risen. Mrs. Weasley knelt to the ground next to her daughter, trying to calm her down, her desperation that she tried to hide showing in her cracking voice and pained face. But Ginny beat her back, scratching and biting and kicking. Hermione watched, horror-struck, feeling useless as Ginny's siblings and parents tried to calm into the hysterical girl, who writhed on the ground.

"IT'S _NOT_ OKAY, HARRY!" Ginny screamed at no one. "THEY'LL TAKE YOU, THEY'LL TAKE IT, I CAN'T - CAN'T - " Ginny's torment seemed to move beyond words. With a great sob she lunged at thin air, as if trying to clutch it in her arms, then fell to the ground crying harder than ever, shaking with cold. Ron and George took advantage of this moment of stillness and grabbed Ginny, who fought as if for her life. Hermione was just about frozen when she looked up and realized Ginny was making it snow. She was past reason. Ginny was dangerous.

"_Morteus Maxima!_" Mrs. Weasley's voice shook as she cast the spell, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. Ginny's fighting suddenly diminished, her kicking slowed, until she lay still a moment later, her eyes dull and listless. Her steady breaths rose in great puffs of steam, her skin an ethereal blue. George lifted her limp form from the frosted ground with the delicacy of something much-loved, but very fragile, and carried her inside. Like a funeral procession, the others followed solemnly, without a word, swallowed up one by one by the open mouth of the dark house.

* * *

><p><strong>It seems like this entire story is going to take place at mealtimes! . <strong>**Like seriously. I just can't get away from the food.**

**But anyway, I hope you liked it! Please review, it means a lot to me.**


	4. Asylum

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 4 | Asylum**

* * *

><p>"And now we invite our listeners to join us for a most unusual story. Residents of the small village Ottery St. Catchpole received quite a shock when they stepped outside yesterday evening - snow. That's right, snow. The villagers reported that last night, at about nine PM, there was a dramatic drop in temperature, followed by a light snowstorm that lasted for ten minutes and then suddenly disappeared. By ten o' clock the frost had gone and everything was back to normal.<p>

"Dodgy, it was," says Ottery St. Catchpole resident Gertrude Portsmith, eighty-seven, who was talking to her neighbor outside when the freak snowstorm occurred. "Didn't notice the temperature real much until I realized I could see my breath. So I says to Donna, 'Lookit! It's right cold out!' and she points at the bushes in front my house, all covered in frost! And then it starts snowing! In the middle of May! Never seen anything like it. So I says to Donna, 'It's right snowing!' an so we wakes up the whole street and we gets them all out in the middle of the square, all in their winter things and everything, and then the clouds start to roll away and it gets right warm out again within the hour! So we takes off our coats and goes back inside. 'Course, I phones up everyone I knows and I tells them all what I seen."

"And now we are joined by meteorologist Kenneth Greenmore, who's joining us today to give us his opinion of this natural phenomenon."

"Thank you, Archie, it's good to be here. Now, there aren't any leads currently, but I can assure your listeners that my colleagues and I are doing all we can to work out a reason for last night's peculiar shift in weather - "

Ron shut off the small wooden wireless with a flick of his wand. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"Even the Muggles noticed." She frowned.

"They don't know what it is, though," George offered. "They're always reporting weird stuff like this, but they haven't got a clue about magic."

Mrs. Weasley knew that her son was probably right, but the lines around her mouth were still taught. "I'm worried about her." She said.

Her statement met no reply. With an air of snapping out of a daydream, Mrs. Weasley looked around, wiping her hands on her apron absently. "Well, I've got work to do." She said rather briskly, ignoring the elephant in the room, and swept off.

Ron felt someone settle in the seat next to him and put an arm around Hermione without much conscious thought.

"Ron," She said in a slightly quavering voice.

George gave a loud, theatrical cough, eyed Ron in mock disapproval and left. Hermione threw George an annoyed look and continued when he was gone, "We should go up stairs. See if Ginny's all right."

Ron looked at her for a long time. Her face was very close to his; there was a crease in between her brows. The usual warmth in her large brown eyes was now accompanied by a glimmer of worry. "I would," Ron began slowly, "But what if she starts yelling at us again, like last night?"

"Your mum cast a Sedation Spell on her, they're long-lasting. She'll probably still be a bit drowsy." Hermione replied.

It was a moment before Ron nodded. If Hermione thought it was okay, then it was good enough for him; she was always right. "Why do you want to, though? As soon as we bring it up she might go ballistic." He said, however, staying where he was. Hermione looked uncomfortable.

"I was thinking about it last night. I don't think anyone really noticed it, because they were so . . . "

"Busy making sure Ginny didn't freeze us all to death?" Ron offered.

". . . Yes. But anyway, last night I was going over what she had said while you and George were trying to stop her from fighting. It sounded like - like she was talking to Harry. As if he were there."

"She talks to herself sometimes, doesn't she?" He said. "Mostly to herself, when she thinks no one's watching. Or when she's angry, I guess, judging by yesterday."

"That's still not good." Hermione said. She was stating the obvious now.

"Well, I know that. She's been sick since the Battle." said Ron. He inwardly cursed himself. He had been about to say, 'since Harry died,' but had changed track at the last minute. Was he really that weak, so much so that he could not even admit that his aloud?

Hermione pushed on, though she had probably noticed too and chose not to bother him about it. He was very grateful.

"Either way, if she's ever going to get better, this - this arrangement can't continue." She waved a hand vaguely in the air for lack of a better word.

"What arrangement?"

"This!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Discussing in detail whether or not it's a good idea to go and talk to her! We've gotten into the habit of treating Ginny as if that room of hers is an insane asylum." Hermione looked very tired all of a sudden. When she shook her head, bushy hair tumbled all over her face and she did not bother to brush it back. "When did this happen, Ron? How did everything get like this . . . ?"

She trailed off, and Ron squeezed her hand. "We'll go and talk to her." He said firmly.

Ron placed his hand on Ginny's doorknob and braced himself for the worst. He was fully prepared to slam the door shut again as soon as he opened it, just in case Ginny lunged at him. He tried not to show his nervousness, but Hermione must have been able to tell anyway, because he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, and with a deep breath he stepped inside.

Ron expected to be attacked as soon as he entered - but Ginny did not attack. She was seated on her bed, meditation-style, as disheveled and mad looking as always, but blessedly calm. Ron let out a small breath.

"Hello, Ginny," Said Hermione kindly. "What are you doing?" Ginny ignored her. Undeterred, Hermione tried again. "Is it all right if Ron and I join you?"

Ginny looked up as if she had only just heard Hermione. She stared at them blankly for a few seconds, then nodded. Her eyes fell back down to the plastic doll she clutched in one hand, apon which the Animation charm had long worn off. The doll blinked feebly every now and then, or gave a tired sigh, tiny limbs stirring minutely. Ginny had to do the moving for the doll, walking her along the edge of her bed, lifting her arms up and down, combing her hair with a tiny brush. Ron couldn't see the point in playing with that old thing if it wouldn't go on its own.

"That's pretty." Hermione sat down next to Ginny on the bed, and Ron followed suit. "Oh, look, she's smiling at me!" Hermione didn't seem to see that the toy was broken. She asked Ginny if she could play as well.

Ginny presented Hermione with another doll, an army man that had once belonged to Charlie, who was missing a leg. He limped around tiredly, a defeated look in his eyes. Ron watched the two girls have the dolls throw a tea party, not saying anything for a while. He caught Hermione's eye, unsure of what to say, inquiring silently what the point of being here was if they were not asking Ginny questions. She merely shook her head cryptically and continued to chat idly with his sister.

"So, Ginny." Hermione's change in tone jerked Ron out of his daydream. He could tell she was past talking about dolls and tea parties. "Ron and I wanted to talk to you about last night."

Ginny's eyes widened. She glanced at the door, as if weighing her chances of escaping quickly. Hermione kept her eyes on Ginny, perhaps waiting for a reply, but none came. Ron felt he should help her in some way, but had not a clue what to say. He merely nodded fervently in agreement.

"You two think I'm mad." Ginny finally said.

Neither of them answered.

"Well, I'm not." She continued calmly, surveying them both. "You don't need to worry about me."

Still Hermione pushed on. "But we care about you, Ginny. Everyone does. We just want you to be better."

"I'm not sick." Ginny repeated, quite serenely. Ron had been expecting her to be more agitated than this, even violent . . .

"What are you, then?" Ron asked, taking a chance, now that she seemed to be eerily calm. "You had a fit yesterday." Hermione caught his eye, looking wary of his daring, but he ignored this.

"I may've been . . . scared last night, but I'm not sick." Ginny said yet again, defiant.

"Why were you scared last night, Ginny?" Hermione asked.

Ginny looked down so that Ron could not see her eyes. Was she angry, afraid? Had they triggered another outburst?

"I told you." Ginny's voice quavered.

"But you haven't told us - " Ron began, but he was cut off.

"It was a secret, and I told it to you." When she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "Please don't take him away from me . . . " And then she broke, crying freely now, balling her hands into fists so tight that her knuckles turned white.

Ron did not hesitate pulling her into a protective hug. He stroked Ginny's hair, muttering calming words to her. He assured her that no, they would not take anything away from her, whatever it might me, she just needed to stop crying.

Ron met Hermione's gaze over Ginny's shoulder. They could not talk about it, not with Ginny there, but he knew what she was thinking anyway, because he was thinking it too. Ginny did not want them to take 'him' away from her, and it was now quite obvious that she meant Harry. So what did this mean?

At last, Ginny sat up, hiccupping. Her hands were still fists, and she sat there for a minute without speaking, just wringing them together. They always seemed to be like that, Ron observed dully. Always closed, so that no one could see the inside, just like the way Ginny kept her thoughts walled up inside of her. Who really knew what was going on in her head . . .

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley's shriek carried through the open window of Ginny's bedroom. Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried glance.

"We're going to see what's wrong, all right?" Hermione said at once to Ginny, who remained cross-legged on her bed, nodding slowly.

She and Ron pounded down the stairs two at a time, running through the empty kitchen and wrenching the back door open again as it shut behind Mr. Weasley. Adrenaline coursed through Ron's veins; he pulled out his wand, ready to fight. He kept a close eye on Hermione, her wand also out, sprinting behind him; he would not lose her like he lost Harry.

Everyone was congregated outside, at the very edge of the enchantments which protected the Burrow from discovery. Ron and Hermione stopped next to them, breathless, and eyed the black shadow they were all staring at. A lone man blundered through the fields very close by, tracing a helter-skelter path through the brush, arms out in front of him as though he could not see where he was going.

"What's going on?" Asked Dean, breathless, he and Luna rocketing out of the back door to join them.

"Weasley!" The man bellowed, voice hoarse and cracked. "Arthur Weasley!"

"I don't know." Mr. Weasley said, voice low and grim.

Mrs. Weasley clutched her husband's arm very tightly as the man got nearer and nearer.

"He shouldn't be able to find us, right, dad?" George asked warily. "We have the Fidelius Charm."

Mr. Weasley nodded, but Dean said darkly, "They still found us."

"That was because they got the location out of Mal," Luna reminded Dean. "He looks as if he's just stumbling around, waiting to walk into something."

It soon became apparent that this was exactly what the man was doing. He seemed to get nearer to the Burrow purely by chance, his arms blindly groping, still yelling feebly for Arthur Weasley. It was only when he was twenty feet away that Hermione gave an astounded gasp.

"What?" Said Ron, turning to her, alarmed.

Hermione turned her white face and round eyes up at him. "Ron - it's Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy!" She replied.

He had not seen it until Hermione pointed it out, and even then, it was still very hard to discern any sort of recognizable features on the man's face. Every inch of his exposed skin was covered in cuts and bruises; both eyes were swollen and black, his lips puffed and red, his broken nose bleeding down his front. Only the long, knotted, white-blonde hair bore any slight resemblance to the proud man Lucius Malfoy had once been.

Everyone around them seemed to tense. George was snarling, his wand following Lucius like a hunting dog, and Mrs. Weasley had stepped protectively in front of her family, arms slightly outstretched, an unshakable shield.

"Can't we do something?" Whispered Andromeda, who clutched Teddy tightly.

"Not if we want to blow out cover." Said Mr. Weasley grimly. "He's probably found out we were in the area. How, I don't now . . . but he can't know exactly where, we've got every protection under the sun hiding this place."

There was naught to do but hold their breath as Lucius stumbled ever closer, panting and shouting and looking as if he might collapse at any moment. He seemed quite deranged. After a tense minute of blind stumbling, the desperate man finally touched the edge of the magical border and was lifted into the air by the force of the shield; he hurtled ten feet backwards and hit the ground with a nasty bump. Undeterred, Lucius scrambled onto his hands and knees and crawled forward once more, only to be pushed back again. He was shaking so badly the words coming out of his mouth sounded garbled and strange.

"Weasley! Weasley, I must speak with you . . . P-please, I must tell you . . . p-please . . . I know you are there . . ."

Just as Ron had never seen Lucius so ill-kept, he had never anticipated that words like these would spill from Lucius' mouth. Lucius had always spoken to everyone - the Weasleys in particular - as if they were far beneath him. Now he begged at their feet, a shadow of that sneering man he had once been. The whole scene was so pitifully desperate that it made Ron want to look away.

"I am not here on the Dark Lord's orders . . . " Lucius continued, when he realized that no one would risk leaving the protection of the Burrow to hear him out, conveying his message blindly in the hopes that they could hear it. "I managed - managed to escape, but he will be looking for me - not here, never here, he knows not where you are . . . but it m-matters not. The Dark Lord - Draco - my son - " Lucius swallowed and shook his head, eyes closed, refusing to continue that train of thought. "He has a plan."

He opened his eyes again, and his listeners stood stock-still. For a moment no one dared breathe, but Lucius did not seem to want to speak again until someone showed themselves. They stood there tensely, waiting for him to continue, but he merely began to cough violently.

Ron was struck with a sudden idea. "Hermione," He said. "Make a patronus, have it go past the enchantments, and have it tell Malfoy to talk."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. "That's brilliant, Ron." She said, as though she could not believe it, but was very impressed nonetheless. She looked around at the others, who nodded their approval.

Ron turned slightly pink. "I'd do it myself, but I don't know how to do that message thing . . . " he mumbled.

"Expecto Patronum." Hermione said clearly, waving her wand gracefully, and a silver otter burst from the tip. It floated once around Hermione, who directed it towards Lucius with another flick of her wand.

Lucius gave a very audible yelp of shock as the Patronus suddenly became visibly in front of him. Hermione's voice echoed firmly from the silver otter: "Tell us what you know."

He hesitated, gaping, only for a moment as the Patronus vanished. Then Lucius swallowed thickly and continued, addressing the spot where the Patronus had vanished.

"I . . . I know very little - unfortunately I . . . the Dark Lord no longer holds me in such . . . high regard." Lucius looked as if it pained him very much to say it. "But I - I have managed to spy, to listen through keyholes, for long enough to discern what he intends t-to do. It is . . . awful . . . and - and he must be stopped." He gave an almost patriotic jerk of the fist, trying and failing to smile feebly.

This lengthy preamble seemed to be a very transparent attempt to convince the Order members that Lucius was indeed on their side. He was desperate to convince them . . . as he should be, Ron thought, who sneered down at the broken man in front of him with disgust. So now that he had used up all of his second chances with Voldemort, Lucius wanted to come begging for mercy at the feet of his enemies? Ron wanted very badly to curse Lucius into something disgusting. Lucius did not truly care for taking down Voldemort. He only wanted to save his own skin.

Get on with it, you lousy piece of scum, Ron willed Lucius, and finally, after much groveling, Lucius took a deep breath and began to describe what Voldemort had in store.

"The D-Dark Lord - he once possessed several magical objects called Horcruses. There were once six - but Potter managed . . . managed to destroy all but one. The Dark Lord believes he m-must ensure that as many of these objects, these - these Horcruses, are made and protected. The Dark Lord has created so many, however t-that he is only strong enough to make but one more.

"He has devised a plan - one so secret and terrible that p-precious few have been trusted with its details - that will allow him to create one final Horcruse g-greater than the rest. The Dark Lord experiments, now, with old magic and that of his own invention. Though he is not been successful in creating this last Horcruse, he works tirelessly . . . and his aims . . . his aims are to craft it so that it is more powerful, stronger, somehow, than all the rest . . . I know not what their function is, the Horcruses, but the creation of this final Horcruse will require many deaths. Much pain, much suffering. Monumental destruction. And once it is done . . ." Lucius took a deep breath before delivering the final blow. "There will b-be no destroying it. It will be better than any Horcruce he has created before. The Dark Lord can not die." And with a great, shuddering gasp, his deed done, Lucius drew his legs close to himself and was silent.

His audience stood completely silent. No one spoke, but they all seemed to be thinking the same thing - could this be true? Can we trust him?

After a minute of wary silence, Mr. Weasley finally let out a puff of air. "I'll notify the rest of the Order. We can decide what to do with him."

He hurried inside, leaving the rest of them looking down at Lucius, who stirred feebly at their feet.

"He looks rather badly hurt." Luna said.

"Well, we're not taking him inside and nursing him back to health, if that's what you're suggesting." George said, his arms folded. "Let the bastard suffer, for all I care."

Luna tilted her head to the side. "It is true, he really is a quite terrible man, and he doesn't much deserve it. But it seems as if we're going to have to discuss what he's said with the rest of the Order, to see if it's true. We'll need to question him, and we can't do that if he gets any worse." She paused for a second. "Harry would have helped him."

Once again, Luna had impeccably acted without bias or prejudice, despite the fact that if she was a normal sort of person she should have possessed a great deal of it. Ron wanted to let Lucius waste away just as much as George, and would have been willing to argue against Luna even though she was probably right up until a moment ago. But her mention of Harry had stopped the angry words as they rose in his throat. It was true. Though Harry had never been no stranger to feelings of anger, he had also been so admirably clement.

Ron looked at George, and after a moment his brother lowered his wand with a sour expression. Luna stepped forward, followed closely by Mrs. Weasley, and passed through the enchantments. They began to tend to Lucius' wounds, who apon seeing them gave a cry of shock and relief.

"Weasley - he - he - ?" Lucius could not finish, but Luna must have understood his meaning, because she nodded silently.

"We're going to need a lot of Skele-gro. . . " Mrs. Weasley muttered under her breath as she felt Malfoy's ribs.

Mr. Weasley came jogging out of the house a minute later. "Everyone I could reach is on their way," He said. "I've told them what Malfoy said, we've got to discuss this further." Even as he spoke, a faint green light shone underneath the back door and dark shapes moved past the windows.

"We can't leave him here." Said Dean. "He might run off and lead Voldemort right back."

"Put a Supersensory Charm around him." Mrs. Weasley suggested.

"I'll do it." said Mr. Weasley.

He waved his wand in a tight circle around Lucius. It was plausible, of course, that he could try and get back to Voldemort and inform him of their location, but seeing as he was currently curled in a ball and moaning pitifully, Ron doubted he'd be able to get very far.

He felt Hermione entwine her fingers with his. The pressure was steady and comforting; it let him know that she was there. With one final look at Lucius' broken form huddled within the boundaries of the Supersensory Charm, the two followed the rest of his family inside. Ron did not know what the future held, or what plans Voldemort may have, but at least he had Hermione.

* * *

><p><strong>Before you point it out, I know Horcrux is spelled wrong. Lucius just doesn't know what he's talking about.<strong>


	5. The Last Horcrux

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 5 | The Last Horcrux**

* * *

><p>The kitchen was full of both strange and familiar faces when Ron and Hermione entered. Ron could pick out Kingsley, Fleur, Bill, Charlie, and even Neville's grandmother among the small crowd of Order supporters. They shuffled in place, muttering to one another, waiting for the meeting to begin.<p>

"Please, everyone, feel free to find a seat!" Mrs. Weasley pushed past Ron, holding her wand aloft; a dozen glasses of lemonade set themselves neatly on the table. A few people murmured in thanks.

"Where is he, Arthur?" Boomed Kingsley's slow, deep voice.

"Out back. We didn't take him inside of the enchantments." Mr. Weasley answered.

Kingsley nodded. "Good. Even if we do decide he's telling the truth, I don't think you'd want him in your house."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No . . . well, anyway, you're all here, so I'll explain what he said." He spent the next ten minutes referring Malfoy's warning in detail to the Order members. When he was finished, no one spoke for a moment.

"What is a Horcruse?" a man whom Ron did not recognize asked. "He wasn't very specific."

"I . . . don't know." Mr. Weasley said after a moment.

He looked around hopefully at the others, but none spoke up; a heavy silence fell about the room. Ron and Hermione eyed each other almost guiltily. They had never told their family what they were doing with Harry in the year before he died; due to the devastation of their loss at the Battle of Hogwarts, as well as Harry's death, the Order's curiosity had been snuffed out. No one had asked them for the details of their mission since before the Battle. But after a moment, Ron finally spoke up.

"It's actually called a Horcrux." He muttered.

Every head swiveled to look at him. Ron turned slightly red.

Hermione stepped in. "Two years ago we were looking for them with Harry, destroying them. We managed to kill five . . . but You-Know-Who does have one more. We think it's his snake." She said nervously.

"But what exactly - ?" Percy's question trailed off.

"It's an object enchanted by a Dark wizard so that it will contain a fragment of his or her soul. It's a revolting piece of magic, really." There was a short pause as everyone digested this.

"How do you do it, then?" Bill asked slowly. "If we know how You-Know-Who's making these things, we have a chance at stopping him."

"You have to kill someone," Hermione said. "Commit an act so evil that it splits the soul in two . . . and then you'd place that bit of soul inside of an object, and it becomes a Horcrux. Then if you are killed, the bit of your soul within the Horcrux still lives on . . . it's supposed to make your soul really unstable, though; they're so awful, and he made six of them, too . . . " Her voice faded away.

"_Six_?" Percy asked. "What - "

"We don't know how you do it, don't ask." Ron cut him off.

"In any case, it sounds as if this one he's planning on making now is created by other means than a normal Horcrux." Kingsley said.

"So how do we stop him?" Dean said.

"You forget," Mrs. Longbottom stepped forward, surveying them all with her usual expression of extreme distaste. "That we have no reliable evidence that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is planning anything at all. We can not trust this man."

"She has a point." Mr. Weasley sighed after a moment.

"We'll have to interrogate him, then." Bill said. "We need a reason as to why he's suddenly changed his alliance."

"And anything else he'll be able to tell us about You-Know-Who's plan." Charlie added.

"But did you _hear_ the way Malfoy was talking about You-Know-Who?" Ron said, crossing his arms. "He was pretending like he'd finally seen the light, realized You-Know-Who's a murdering madman, and pretending badly at that_. _I reckon You-Know-Who finally had enough, tried to kill him, but Malfoy escaped somehow and came crawling back to us. No one on his side'll help him, so he goes and grovels at the feet of his enemies, the lousy piece of scum."

"That could be true as well." Hermione said.

"So you theenk he ees lying?" Fleur asked. "Has he told us a story just to gain ze Order's sympathy?"

"He could be lying." Kingsley rubbed his eyes tiredly. "But he might not."

Bill nodded, but glancing around at the others' confused expressions, he explained, "Well, think about it. If this plan's just something he made up to gain our trust, if we act on it and find out it wasn't real, obviously we're going to be pretty angry with Malfoy. I think he knows. He'd want to be absolutely sure he'd have powerful allies who would keep him safe."

"Cowardly bastard." George muttered.

"George, don't you dare talk like that!" Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, who up until then had been standing still and white faced, her lips pressed tightly together. Now she looked absolutely livid.

"Mum!" George cried, turning red. "I'm twenty-one, are you really going to - !" He began to protest, outraged, but she cut him off.

"Of course I am! I am your mother, and I will not tolerate language like that under my - !"

"Molly." Mr. Weasley said quietly.

Mrs. Weasley stopped short, her husband's soft tone shocking her into silence. There was a tense silence in the room for a long minute, in which Mrs. Weasley and George glowered at each other from across the room.

"Well!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, when the quiet persisted. "How are we supposed to figure out what You-Know-Who is doing if everyone is just standing there like this is dinner theater? I have laundry to do!" She turned and was gone. Mr. Weasley followed her out of the room without hesitation, looking worried. Ron had seen his mother get angry plenty of times, but over much larger issues, and she usually made an effort to control herself in front of guests. He shot a confused glance at George, who mirrored it back.

"So." Bill said pointedly when his parents did not return, in an effort to bring everyone back to the topic at hand. "Er, Malfoy. Can we trust him?"

"I think not." Mrs. Longbottom said, holding her chin aloft. "One does not simply cease to be Death Eater. The fact that Mr. Malfoy could have escaped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is near impossible. He would have been killed."

"He certainly looks as if he's been tortured, beaten, or chased." Luna said.

"But Malfoy hasn't been in You-Know-Who's good books in years. D'you think he'd have cared that much if Malfoy ran for it?" Charlie added.

"He could be spying for You-Know-Who, though." said George. "It would have been easy. Just invent some story, injure him, and send him our way."

"But _'ow?_" Fleur said hotly. "'Ow did he find zis house in ze first place? Eet is protected with every spell ze Order has to offer."

There was a short pause. No one seemed to have any ideas.

"He could have found a loophole somehow," Hermione offered feebly, but this was not an answer. "I mean, have we ever tested the limitations of the Fidelius charm before?" She tried again, voice a bit stronger. "I've never tried to see how much I could say about the location of a safe house before the charm kicked in, and I trust that none of you have. Perhaps . . . maybe someone told Malfoy that the Burrow was in this general area, and the charm doesn't protect against anything but a direct indication of the house's location. Or the charm might only work if the person _intends_ to reveal the place, not if they let something slip by accident, but I doubt that . . . " She appeared to be thinking aloud. " . . . Or he could have been told where the Burrow is a long time ago, before the protections were put in place . . . he might have even known about Ginny's snow on the Muggle radio this morning and guessed that we were nearby."

"Yeah, but the chances of Malfoy listening to Muggle news are about as good as Ronnie here becoming Minister of Magic one day." George flashed a grin. Ron scowled.

Kingsley ignored this. "The snow could have been any underage witch or wizard." He said.

"Well, what about her other reasons, then?" Ron said, rather more angrily than he intended.

"I don't doubt that the Fidelius charm is keeping us hidden. I've never heard of a case in where one has been broken other than instances in which the Secret Keeper revealing the secret. I can check the wards after we're done here to be sure, though. " Bill said thoughtfully. "But your theory about him hearing about our location years ago, Hermione . . . that could be it."

Ron could tell that Hermione was trying very hard not to look pleased with herself.

"So that's three theories we have as to Malfoy's motives," Dean began to count them off on his fingers. "One, he's telling the truth to save his own skin. Two, he's lying to save his own skin. Three, he's lying on Voldemort's orders."

"So which one is the right one?" A woman in the back asked.

"Like I said, we need to interrogate him." Bill repeated. "Use force if we have to, but we have to get as much information as possible if we're going to decide whether or not he's lying."

"No one in here makes a habit of carrying around Veritaserum in their back pocket, do they? Because that would be helpful." George grinned.

A few people cracked smiles, but they also all shook their heads or muttered, "No." There was a short pause.

"Well, that's that, then." Kingsley said. "Who's going to do it?"

"I will," Ron said immediately.

"Ron, No." Bill said, shaking his head. "Let me and Charlie do it, all right?"

"No, I want to help, I want to know what the bastard's got to say!"

"Me too," Said George

"And I as well."

Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron all turned to look at their other brother, who had stepped forward, very red. Percy glanced nervously at each of them in turn, swallowed, and seemed to steel himself.

"Well, seeing as I lost a few years of fighting when the war first began, it's high time I started to pull my weight." He drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest with an air of pompous defiance. George jabbed him hard in the stomach and Percy deflated with a great _puff_, choking and spluttering. Ron stifled a laugh.

Bill frowned, silent for a moment, and then gave a long sigh. "All right, all right. Charlie, George, Ron, Percy and I'll talk to Malfoy and see what we can make of his story. Anyone else can stay and watch."

There was a great amount of shuffling happening in the kitchen; some of the congregation moved toward the fireplace, made up mostly of the Order members that Ron did not know, but most trooped out into the back garden, a group full of familiar, tense faces.

Malfoy had not moved; the Supersensory Charm still hummed quietly in a dome around his broken form. They stepped across the magical protection the Burrow offered, and Malfoy looked up, his bruised and bloody face desperate for a verdict. Each Weasley brother removed their wands from their pocket; Charlie and Percy already had them directed at Malfoy.

"We need answers, Malfoy." Percy began, the forcefulness of his tone betraying his desperation to prove his worth to his brothers. Ron caught George smirking out of the corner of his eye.

Malfoy groveled on the ground as he had before. "Of course - yes, I-I'll tell you anything! Everything!" He spluttered eagerly.

"How did you find us?" Bill demanded

Malfoy did not hesitate, but answered immediately, pleading - "I have known that your house was n-near this village for some number of years - I was merely going my memory, I assure you!"

Ron chanced a glance at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She was very clearly trying to keep a straight face, but she smiled smugly in spite of herself: Ron remembered she used to make the very same face when a Professor awarded Hermione house points for answering a question correctly . . . Ron had once burst with jealousy whenever he saw her make that expression . . . now it immersed him in several years' worth of happy memories, all in the space of a moment . . .

"_Why _did you find us?" Charlie asked, pulling Ron jarringly back to the present. "What made you leave You-Know-Who?"

This time Malfoy took his time. He licked his lips, eyes never leaving the ground.

"Answer me!" Charlie demanded. His wand pointed threateningly in Malfoy's face.

For one wild moment Ron thought he might actually burst into tears, but Malfoy merely swallowed and continued on.

"He - he killed Draco." Malfoy's voice cracked. "My _son._ My _only son . . ._" He seemed to be at a loss for words that would accurately describe his pain.

A whole host of unpleasant memories quickly replaced the happy ones Ron had been thinking about Hermione. He remembered Draco's death in painful clarity; how he was called forward, after Voldemort was done declaring his victory to those fighters congregated in the courtyard. Ron remembered the relief that had flooded his face when Voldemort congratulated Draco for his efforts, an expression that hand not entirely left Draco's face as Voldemort struck him down with a swipe of his wand. Ron had closed his eyes, but Voldemort's voice drove itself like a nail into his brain: Voldemort kicked over the boy's body with no emotion whatsoever in his face, expressing that he had been so disappointed that Draco had not joined him, that he had failed his final mission, spent his last chance. Lord Voldemort did not forgive any more, he went on, and he would show no more mercy for those who fought against him.

There had been so many times when Ron had wished horrible things on Draco. He regretted them all now.

Ron suddenly realized that Malfoy was still speaking. " . . . at the end of the B-Battle, you were all there . . . to make an example, to strike f-fear in the hearts of his enemies . . . as - as well as his allies." He shuddered and looked up almost defiantly up into Charlie's eyes, suddenly hard and determined. "The Dark Lord killed him, and from that moment, Narcissa and I were no longer his servants."

"And then?" George said.

"We - we spied, we lied, gathering as much information as p-possible, anything we could learn that would help to stop his evil deeds. The D-Dark Lord held many meetings with my sister and law, and precious few more - more _trusted_ servants," There was a bitterness in Malfoy's voice that told Ron he was still resentful about his ranking among the Death Eaters, despite the fact that he had supposedly changed sides. Ron felt rather sick listening to this; he was sure that if Voldemort had still held him in as high regard as he once had, Malfoy would most certainly not be at the Burrow today. "We discovered - as I told you before, with great p-personal risk to ourselves - of his plan to create one final Horcruce - "

"Horcrux." Ron muttered.

Malfoy blinked and then nodded fervently. "Yes, yes, Horcrux, of course . . . we - we learned what we could about The Dark Lord's Horcrux - "

"How long has he been planning? When do you think he will be able to finish?" Bill cut across him.

"It is slow, please, I do not know!" Malfoy pleaded. "He works t-tirelessly, dwells endlessly on both old, forgotten magic and spells of his own invention since the Battle ended. Sometimes he becomes frustrated, destroys things in anger, k-kills house elves or goblins . . . but he m-must draw closer to an answer, however slowly . . . I am sure of it . . . "

"Is there anything else you learned?" Percy demanded.

"No - no. Only that the Dark Lord plans to create a Horcrus - Horcrux . . . that will require many deaths. My wife, Narcissa - she m-might know more, she is still in his service - but there is no way to contact her, she is not allowed to leave our house, and it is so c-carefully watched . . ."

"But why didn't you just leave You-Know-Who right away? Why now?" Ron asked.

"We were waiting until we could gather as many details as p-possible, until we knew the full plan! The goal was originally to tell the Order of the Phoenix of The Dark Lord's intentions, and bring him down . . . for Draco. But then . . . " Malfoy's face crumpled

"You-Know-Who caught you eavesdropping." George said.

"Yes." Ron could almost see the horrible memories replaying themselves on the other side of Malfoy's eyes. "We waited too long. He must have b-been suspecting me for some time . . . he is a most accomplished Legilimens, it is so difficult to hide things from him . . . The Dark Lord punished me, tortured me for my betrayal, and he meant to kill me . . . but I managed to escape." He looked as if he did not quite know how he had managed this feat. "The others - they chased me for days, but as I had n-no wand, I could not Apparate, only steal a broken broomstick someone had left in the trash . . . I lost them in the end. I knew I had to bring the Order of the Phoenix what information I did have . . . and so I walked the rest of the way h-here."

There was a small, empty pause, their questions spent and answered, and then Bill spoke.

"That's all we need, Malfoy . . . we'll need to discuss what to do with you." He gestured to his brothers to step back into the protection of the Burrow, where they could talk with the other Order members without Malfoy butting in.

Malfoy's eyes were shining as they stared worriedly up at Bill; the effect was quite pathetic. "Thank you . . . thank you . . . " He murmured as the Weasley brothers vanished before his eyes. For good measure, Ron kicked him as he passed.

"Well." Kingsley stated, his eyebrows raised, expression somewhere between exasperation and confusion. "Do we believe him?"

"I don't buy it." said Dean. "He couldn't have escaped You-Know-Who without a wand. He's just too good."

"I don't believe he ever mentioned that You-Know-Who himself was chasing him." Luna said. "And we've escaped Death Eaters before."

"Fine, if you want to take him in and give him a room and a hot meal, be my guest." Dean retorted.

"Well, we can't do that," Ron suddenly realized that his mother had returned at the sound of her voice, which was quiet and sighing, all annoyance at George gone ( or at least, it seemed to be gone - Ron suspected she was just saving her outburst for when the guests left. ), her usual, weary demeanor returned. Mr. Weasley eyed her, slightly nervously, from behind her. "I'll not have this man in my house, and I hardly doubt anyone will disagree. It's just not practical, he could be a spy!"

"But we can't really let him just wander off, can we?" Charlie said. "It'd be good if we keep an eye on him, but I agree with mum, bringing Malfoy inside the protection isn't a good idea."

"So what do we do?" said Hermione; Ron looked at her. It was quite a surprise to see her at a loss for a brilliant plan - he had often wondered if she kept a list of them handy for whenever they were in a tight spot.

"Have him make the Unbreakable Vow." Every head swiveled around to look at George. He was leaning against a tree, looking at the ground.

"W-What?" Mrs. Weasley was caught off guard, all anger at George forgotten; only blank shock shone in her wide eyes, an expression that was mirrored in the faces of all but George.

"The Unbreakable Vow." He repeated. "Make him swear not to give us up."

"Doesn't that seem like a little . . . much?" Hermione said uncertainly.

"Well, how else can we know for sure we can trust him?" George said.

" . . . He has a point." Bill said.

"I don't think anyone else here knows the spell, though, do they?" said Mr. Weasley.

"But . . . Fred and George tried to make me do one when I was little." Ron said, confused, before anyone could answer his father. "There can'tve been a spell involved, they didn't even have wands yet - "

"If you do commit to an Unbreakable Vow that hasn't been properly administered, it can go horribly wrong - you might die immediately, or else, be signed to a different set of conditions, things of the like." Hermione explained.

"Not only was I angry with the two of them because they even thought about forcing you to make an Unbreakable Vow, but the consequences of making one without knowing how to do it - let alone without even a wand - would've been even worse." Mr. Weasley said.

"Oh." Ron murmured.

Kingsley stepped forward, at last finding a window to speak. "My old partner from the Ministry specialized with this sort of thing." He said. "He's been abroad for the past few years, You-Know-Who's been trying to recruit him, but I can send him an owl."

"Excellent, Kingsley! But in the meantime . . . " Mr. Weasley's gaze fell on Malfoy, who was once more curled apon the ground.

"We can't let him in, but we can't exactly let him wander around at his own leisure now, can we?" Bill said.

"We could put up a tent." Luna said dreamily. Everyone looked at her. She elaborated further: "We can put up a tent for him to stay in, outside of the boundaries, and keep him within another Supersensory Charm. We can bring him food and talk to him if we need to, but he can't leave, and he can't get inside."

There was a moment's pause.

"That's very smart of you, Luna." said Hermione kindly, though she also looked rather surprised as well as annoyed at herself for not thinking of that first.

"Do you still have that old one of Perkins' in that little bag of yours?" Ron asked her.

She nodded. "I'll go and get it." And then she was gone.

"And I'll send that owl." Kingsley said.

"You can use Hermes." Percy offered, and both of them followed Hermione into the house.

Meanwhile, Luna had stepped forward, out of the magical protection of the Burrow. Malfoy looked up hopefully.

"You'll not be allowed to leave, or enter this house, but for the time being the Order has decided to let you stay nearby." she said, smiling serenely. "We are willing to take your information into account, of you are willing to make an Unbreakable Vow."

He paused only for a moment and licked his lips. Then: "Yes . . . yes, I will swear it"

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes were glimmering with tears. "No - thank you, thank you!"


	6. The Crying Gates

"A final Horcrux . . . greater than all the rest . . . "

Harry did not think he had ever seen Dumbledore look as worried as the old man did now. Dumbledore always seemed to have a plan, or an answer - and if not, was capable of concocting one on the spot. But now he merely frowned and cast his eyes downward. The seriousness of the news Harry had just delivered seemed to press down on his shoulders like a physical weight; he looked more frail and fragile than he had in a long time.

"I have never heard of magic as black as this." Dumbledore finally said.

Lily looked at Dumbledore, her eyes wide with fear, and James gave her a one-armed squeeze. Harry surveyed the inside of his parents' house without really taking in any details of the cottage's quaint kitchen; a moment later, his eyes turned back to the rather defeated-looking Dumbledore.

"Then what do we do?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "We must not give up." He said cryptically. "We must be very grateful that Lucius has had this change of heart, otherwise, the living would most likely have found out too late. Now at least there is a chance for action."

"But what action?" James said.

Harry felt rather irrationally angry; Dumbledore was supposed to know what to do, he always did - and yet there he sat, without any more of a clue what to do than Harry did. James' question hung heavily in the air, unanswered.

"I'm going to go for a walk." Harry huffed.

"Harry . . . " Lily began, but his hand was already on the doorknob; he hesitated for a fraction of a second at the sound of his mother's voice, and Dumbledore seized his chance.

"Harry, even if there is not clear what we must do, if we are to formulate a plan it is imperative that we are able to communicate with the living members of the Order of the Phoenix. You know what that means, Harry." Dumbledore surveyed Harry over the tips of his spectacles. Harry paused. He did indeed know what Dumbledore wanted him to do; he had known that it was necessary for a long time, really, but he had also been long avoiding it. It would hurt him to do it, and it would certainly hurt Ginny, but it had to be done. Harry gave a long sigh.

"Yeah, I know."

"Be gentle, Harry." Lily said.

Harry nodded but did not speak, and then he opened the door and was gone.

He needed to walk, he needed to think . . . about what they were to do, about how they were to defeat Voldemort . . . Harry turned the corner of a quiet suburban street . . . to think about Ginny, about how much he loved her . . . about death . . .

* * *

><p><strong>Harry Potter is Dead<strong>

**Chapter 6 | The Crying Gates**

* * *

><p>Harry remembered dying very well. He recalled the moments before very vividly: The sight of an arm raising a wand, just before he closed his eyes; the sounds of the forest and the shifting weight of the dead behind him; and the fear, the overwhelming, terrible fear. Of death, of the dying, of the unknown: What would happen when he was gone? What would become of his friends, the brave souls preparing once more to fight valiantly against his greatest enemy? At least now their job would be easier. Voldemort would be mortal. They would have a chance.<p>

Ginny. He thought of Ginny suddenly as he drew his last breath, how wonderful and how brave she was, her smile, her laugh -

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

And then everything was gone.

The space around Harry was swirling and pearlescent, perpetually twisting like a diamond fog. There were no walls or ceilings as far as Harry could see ( he _could _see ) and the ground beneath his feet ( he had feet, and could use them to feel ) seemed to blend seamlessly into the shiny steam.

He did not know where he was, or how much time has passed since he had entered the forest clearing. He was dead, Harry knew that much, but what was this place? Something told him that the answer was not going to come to him if he just stood there, and so Harry began to walk. Where, he had no idea.

But sure enough, a golden something materialized in the distance after hardly a minute. As Harry approached the fog revealed more and more: The thing which he had seen was a spectacular golden gate, unattached to any wall that Harry could see. People milled about in front of the gates: Some, in billowing white robes, stood stalwart in front of them, while others chatted nonchalantly with one another; however, the majority of the crowd was a mess of tears and misery. Wails began to float over to Harry, distorted by the fog.

As he approached, he noticed other shapes on either side of him moving through the swirls, all towards the same target: The golden gates. They were huge, towering two stories upwards. It was an entrance to something, Harry deduced, but he could see nothing but blank fog through the glittering bars. Carved into them in elaborate script were the curving words _The Crying Gates_.

The yells intensified as some in the crowd caught sight of Harry. He recognized those that cried out - the familiar faces of Order members and Hogwarts students, all of them killed not a few hours before.

"No - Harry! Not Harry!"

"Have we lost? Please, say we haven't lost!"

"_Harry!_"

The last scream was more horrible than all the rest. Harry turned to see Colin Creevey, his pale face stained with tears. Harry felt a huge rush of pity; Colin, who had once been so bright, so happy, now looked at him with his features twisted in pain.

"Harry," Colin's voice was a feeble squeak. "You didn't - you didn't let him get you, did you?" He said.

"Colin . . . "

"But you're the Chosen One! You can't be dead! We can't have lost!" His face was screwed up in anger, not at Harry, but at the unfairness of it all; Harry reached out to comfort him.

"Colin, I had to. You wouldn't - you wouldn't understand . . ." Harry trailed off, but what did it matter, this secrecy? He was dead now. "I had to die. If Voldemort didn't kill me, he couldn't _be_ killed. Now everyone back there will have a chance. They're still fighting," Harry added, as Colin's teary face looked up at him in wonder.

"They're still going?" Colin said, amazed. He had not even thought of a scenario in which their side could win - or even just keep fighting - if Harry Potter was dead. Then another thought struck him, and he spoke urgently: "Dennis, Harry, Dennis - did you see him? Is he okay?"

"He must've stayed out of the castle with the rest of the students," Harry answered. "I didn't see him fighting."

Colin nodded. "Yeah . . . yeah, I was afraid he'd follow me back . . ." He trailed off, lost in dark thoughts. At last he spoke. "I think I'm going to stay out here for a while. Wait and see if Dennis . . . " Colin swallowed. He gave Harry a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Harry." He said. Sorry you're dead. Sorry you'll never hold Ginny again. Sorry that this moment was all you were allowed to live for.

Harry barely managed to return the smile. Physically he felt perfect - better than he had ever been. But even if he was dead, and the dead were supposed to be happy ( right? ), terrible thoughts clouded Harry's head.

"Colin," Harry called out. The boy had turned to leave. Harry gestured vaguely at his surroundings. ". . . What is this place?"

Colin looked around, taking in the crowds of weeping dead, the glimmering golden gates, the men and women in white robes standing guard in front of them. "It looks like heaven, maybe." He shrugged. "Or at least, just outside it." But Colin had no more than guesses; he had only been there for two hours longer than Harry. Come to think of it, Harry had no idea how much time had passed. A minute? A day? Were the living even fighting anymore, back at Hogwarts, a world away?

"Harry."

Harry knew who it was the moment he had heard the voice, perfectly calm, and yet incredibly sad. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sirius . . . " His godfather pulled him into a tight hug. Harry grinned. All of his thoughts of Ginny, of lost battles, and of Voldemort left his mind for a single moment. "Sirius, where are we?" he asked.

Sirius released Harry and thought for a second. "Don't really know what it's called." He said. "Dumbledore has a few funny names for it. Never quite sums it up, though. Barking mad, he is." He grinned; it was true Dumbledore was a bit mad, but only a bit, and in a good way.

Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders and guided him though the miserable crowd. "_You_ shouldn't have to worry about waiting here for a while. They'll let you right in." He said.

Harry did not question Sirius. They steered around knots of crying dead, heading toward the huge golden gates. They approached a man in white robes, who guarded the gates.

"Can he - " The man nodded immediately, not even bothering to let Sirius finish, his grin huge as he looked over Harry. Other guards craned their necks to get a look at him, each with a smile that rivaled the first's.

"Not every day someone like that comes in," one said to the other.

"Harry Potter!' said another. "A real hero!"

There was a loud creak, and the golden gates swung open. Harry blinked. While there had been nothing beyond them just a moment before, there now stood hundreds of houses of all different shapes, sizes, and time periods. One was a sprawling Victorian mansion, and next door, a humble cloth tent. Couples walked by on cobbled streets holding hands, children played tag in rolling green grass, and music played in the distance.

Sirius grinned at Harry's expression. "Come on," he said, taking the lead. They passed beautiful, happy sights wherever they went; people smiled at Harry as he passed, and small children waved as enthusiastically as if they had known him for years.

They walked for ten minutes, turned a corner, and then he saw it. Harry recognized it only because he had visited it not half a year ago, Christmas Eve, for the first time in sixteen years.

His parent's house in Godric's Hollow stood not only quite undamaged but excellently maintained; in addition to the fact that there was no longer a large hole blasted in one corner of the top floor, the hedges were neatly trimmed on either side of the well-oiled gate, and no ivy obscured the lighted windows. Smoke puffed from the stout little chimney, completing the cheery cottage effect.

As they stood there, there was a movement behind the curtains of one window, and a worried face framed with dark red hair peeked out for an instant. Harry's mother's eyes widened, and then an instant later, she was flying out the door. Lily leapt at Harry with such force that he stumbled backwards, her arms tight around him, head buried in his shoulder. She was crying.

Harry had never felt something like this. The closest he had come had been the occasional hug from Mrs. Weasley, but they didn't even compare to the hug his mother - his real_, tangible_ mother - gave him. The way Ginny had once held him was just as wonderful, but not quite the same. He wanted to stay here forever, eternally, in Lily's arms, where he was warm and safe from harm.

James followed right behind his wife and did not hesitate to put his arms around both of them. They stood like that for a long, blissful moment, aware of nothing but each other until at last they broke apart.

Lily looked at him and suddenly burst into watery laughter. "It's been s-sixteen years," She spluttered, "Since I've been able to do that."

James put an arm around his wife. He was struggling not to cry; words seemed to fail to describe his feelings, because James opened and closed his mouth several times, and then hugged Harry again.

It was only when James had finally let him go once more that Harry remembered that they were not alone. Sirius watched a few feet away, beaming, and by him stood Dumbledore, eyes twinkling sadly.

Dumbledore's expression confused Harry. But old wizard must have seen, because a second later he was smiling, the sadness and worry and frown gone from his eyes. "Lily, James, no doubt you will want to be with Harry," he said. "And I promise that a time will come for you to spend time together very soon, but I am afraid that I must remove him from your presence for just a few more moments. I do apologize very sincerely. But it is of the utmost importance that I speak with him privately."

Lily opened her mouth just a second before speaking. "All right," She said after a moment's hesitation. It was clear that now that she had her son back, she was not ready to give him up again just yet, even if it was only for a few minutes. But her respect for Dumbledore eventually won the brief mental battle, and Lily's grip on Harry's hand loosened.

Dumbledore looked sincerely sorry to take Harry away from Harry's mother and father. Although he did not want to, Harry released his hand from his mother's firm grasp. With a fleeting look over his shoulder, Harry followed Dumbledore down the street.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, not just a polite, courteous smile, but one that revealed that he seemed unable to contain his happiness. "First I must commend and congratulate you, Harry, for your heroic actions tonight. I surmise that perhaps only a handful of other men scattered throughout the ages could have shown half the resourcefulness and bravery as you have in these past few years. Particularly within the past hour."

Harry did not know what to say. He looked at Dumbledore, who continued in a tired voice. "You have walked willingly to your death, at the hands of Lord Voldemort, and as such, the part of his soul that once resided in you is no more."

There was a long pause in which Dumbledore stared at his feet, lost in deep thought. The smile was gone; Harry knew better than to interrupt.

"I must confess, Harry," He finally began, slowly, "That everything did not go as I planned. Had the events of tonight unfolded as I had intended them to . . ." Dumbledore gave a long sigh. "You and I would not be conversing right now."

It took Harry a very long time to process what Dumbledore had just said.

"You mean - you mean I'd not have died?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes. He nodded.

Harry swallowed and stared straight ahead, attempting not to look at Dumbledore. By what strange loophole would have he been able to take a Killing Curse for the second time in his life, and still survive? Had something gone wrong? Was something supposed to happen the instant Voldemort uttered the fatal words, something that had somehow failed? Even worse - was it Harry's own fault that he had not lived? Had he accidentally ruined everything?

Of all the questions spinning in his head, only one made it to Harry's lips: "How?"

"It was my belief," Dumbledore began, "That when Lord Voldemort attempted to kill you, the Horcrux he unintentionally placed within you would be destroyed. You yourself would be able to return, free of him at last, to the world of the living. From there you might attempt to end this suffering once and for all."

Dumbledore turned his face from Harry, ashamed. "I was wrong, Harry. I was so _immeasurably_ foolish . . . I knew there was a chance, however miniscule, that this might occur, but I . . . I continued in the hope that it would not. I have gambled with your life, Harry," Dumbledore's voice broke; he looked as if he might cry. "And I am can not possibly express how terrible, contemptible, and abhorrent my mistake was. I do not ask for you to forgive me. I do not deserve it."

There was a long silence as they walked, and Harry's head swam. He had been meant to live. He could have gone back . . . lived once more, to defeat Voldemort truly and completely . . . seen Ginny again . . .

"I don't blame you." Harry said. His voice sounded rather loud in the peaceful quiet of this beautiful place. "I already thought I was going to die . . . I had already, you know, accepted it . . ." He trailed off. Harry was staring at the ground, but he forced himself to make eye contact with Dumbledore. "Anything to take down Voldemort, right? Loads of people died tonight . . . and I died for the same thing they did. To stop him, once and for all."

It was not as bad as it might have been; if Harry had believed that he would, indeed, return to life, then perhaps he would be angry with Dumbledore. But all Harry felt now was an extreme tiredness; he wanted to lie down in a soft bed and just mull over the night's events until he fell asleep. His deed was done; there was no more fighting or running or killing to do. Voldemort was one Horcrux away from being mortal. Harry was satisfied.

Dumbledore's eyes shone with tears. "Thank you, Harry." He said. "You are a great man. Greater than I ever was."

"That's not true." Harry protested.

Now the bright blue orbs were twinkling not with tears, but with mirth. Dumbledore chuckled. "How modest of you, Harry . . . a common trait among those of us who have accomplished uncommonly extraordinary feats." He said. They stopped walking, and Dumbledore turned to face him. Eyes directly on him, Dumbledore spoke his next sentence as if it was solid, unquestionable fact.

"You are a hero, Harry."

* * *

><p>Harry did not return to his parent's house. He wanted terribly to spend as much time as possible with them, to get to know them, finally, for the first time in sixteen years; but there was another pressing matter to attend to, one that could not wait.<p>

Harry did not know how he could do what he did, only that it was possible. One moment he had been standing in the cobbled street by a happy little park, shortly after Dumbledore had departed. Then he was standing on the grounds of Hogwarts, quite invisible to the fighters who dashed past him, shooting spells over their shoulders as they ran. Harry only knew that he had wanted to see Ginny. And here he was.

The world around him was filled with shouts and bangs; terrible, dying screams pierced the smoky air, making the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. The world seemed to be several times brighter, louder, and faster than Harry remembered it being when he was living. Faceless fighters ran past, yelling hoarsely, all around him, words indistinguishable. They moved at double speed, their images burning colors into Harry's brain: Everything confused Harry; he could not understand what they were saying, the world was spinning, everything was so incomprehensible -

Harry found himself on the ground. The pounding feet of the fighters ran straight through him, their eyes blind to his presence. As he sat there the world began to slow down, bit by bit. The colors that had seemed neon before were returning to something more natural. Harry found he could understand words, still slightly distorted, that floated back to him from the fighters as they passed him by. Shakily, Harry got himself to his feet. His need to locate Ginny burned hot in his stomach.

It took Harry only a moment to find Ginny amidst the chaos and confusion, even with his temporary incapacitation, because she was making such a commotion. Ron and Charlie were both pulling her as hard as they could down the slope of the lawn, trying desperately to get her to run, but she was beyond reason. Ginny was fighting them both tooth and nail. She tried with all her might to get back to the courtyard, where Harry realized with a shock that his own body hung as if by an invisible noose, fifty feet above the ground. The body jerked and struggled, screaming ignominiously for mercy, but Harry knew it was a trick; he was already dead . . .

"NO! HARRY! _HARRY!_" Ginny screamed, so terribly that Harry could not bear it. He reached out to touch her, to calm her, but his arm passed straight through her flailing limbs. Her eyes were wild, unseeing - Harry had never seen her loose control like this.

A brick dropped suddenly into his stomach as he followed the fighters running towards the forest. The truth became clear instantaneously: they were fleeing. Voldemort was winning. He turned his head for the first time from Ginny's convulsing body to the collapsing, burning silhouette of Hogwarts. Voldemort's forces stood together in front of the castle, a sheer wall of darkness. And leading them all stood Voldemort himself, laughing manically in his victory. Bellatrix Lestrange danced around him, cackling as madly as her master, sending bangs and fireworks whizzing into the air. She paused her celebration only to cast an occasional Killing Curse at one of her fleeing opponents, yelling gleefully as each spell met its mark.

_They'll have another chance,_ Harry attempted to convince himself. _They can take him down. It's just the snake. They can do this. _We _can do this. _It was all Harry could do not to run straight at Voldemort and cast a dozen Killing Curses at his heart - he had to remind himself that he was no longer alive and that his rage would make no difference.

Harry started to feel dizzy. As Ron, Hermione, and Ginny moved further away from his stationary self, he realized, the feeling grew worse. Perhaps that was how this worked. That he could not roam the world as he pleased; rather, Harry was bound to the people that he had been close to in life. He did not mind; he would have spent eternity watching over them . . .

The Weasleys and Hermione had managed to stay together as the forces retreated through the Forbidden Forest. Harry quickly closed the gap between them, watching Ginny struggle. She kicked and clawed until finally, when they were well into the safety of the tree cover, she broke free. Harry instinctually stood in her path, but she sprinted straight through him, a mess of tears and hysteria.

_No, Ginny! _Panic built in Harry's stomach. _He'll kill you, don't go back! _But she did not make it more than a few more steps before she tripped on a tree branch and dropped, hard, to the earthy forest floor. Shocked and weeping, Ginny stayed where she was, unable or unwilling to get up.

It happened in an instant; Harry had only seen because he had knelt to the ground next to Ginny's broken form. Her face had fallen just inches from a dully glittering object. She did not know what it was, but Harry did; he had only a second to recognize it, but that was all he needed. There was no reason, really, why she did it - but without even thinking about it, her fingers closed around the ring an instant before she was yanked upright.

Charlie had had enough. In one swift, powerful motion, he pulled Ginny up from the ground and hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Ginny did not struggle any more. She was staring at her hands, turning the ring she had found over so as to get a better look. Just as they disappeared though the thickness of the trees, Harry still unable to process what had just happened, Ginny's wide eyes met his for a fraction of a second before she disappeared behind a deadened tree.

* * *

><p>It was so painful to watch Ginny waste away. She refused to leave her room; she did not eat, did not speak, and cried endlessly. Harry could not remember the last time he had seen Ginny cry, let alone as hard as she was now. The Resurrection Stone lay forgotten on a bedside table in her grief until, at last, Ginny absently turned the Stone three times in her hand.<p>

Harry was very close to her when it happened - he had not left her side since the Weasleys returned to the Burrow. She was lying on her bed, eyes flickering with tiredness; she had not eaten that day. He was kneeling at her bedside, one hand stroking her face, though she could feel nothing. And then, quite suddenly, Ginny's eyes found Harry's.

She did not realize what had happened at first. She closed her eyes and smiled, the tiny warm sensation she felt on her cheek nothing but a wonderful hallucination, so she thought.

"I'm dreaming." she murmured. "You're dead."

"You've gotten one right," Harry said carefully. "I am dead."

Her eyes fluttered open.

"You figured it out." Harry smiled sadly down at her, eyes on the ring resting in her palm. "It's called the Resurrection Stone . . . you turn it over three times in your hand, and you can see the people you love who've . . . who aren't here anymore." Harry had been about to say 'people you love who've died,' but Ginny's expression as he neared the word 'died' was so terrible that he changed tracks.

"You came back." Ginny stated slowly. She began to sit up at a snail's pace, eyes never leaving Harry's.

"Well, not - not really - "

Ginny tried to throw her arms around him, but she moved much too quickly; her limbs slid right through Harry's insubstantial form. Ginny looked as if she was about to cry.

"I can't come back, Ginny. You know that." Harry said. "But if you ever need to talk to someone, I'm here. I'm always here, even if you can't see me."

"I can talk to you? Whenever I want?" She said slowly. Happiness began to dawn on Ginny's features like a long-awaited sunrise. It spread light across her features, bathing her in a golden glow. Harry had not seen her smile since his birthday, nearly a year ago, when they were in this very room, her face just as close as it was now . . . they had been about to kiss . . . Harry had to stop himself. He could not truly touch her; it was better not to waste away thinking about this dream of his.

But as Harry's eyes feasted on Ginny's elated expression, a little crease appeared between her eyes. "And . . . and Fred, too? Remus? Tonks?"

Harry nodded.

"Why aren't they here now?" Her eyes searched the room, quite empty but for them, and Harry's instinctually followed them.

"I think," Harry began, but he had no real answer, "Maybe you've just been - been missing me a lot, maybe you can only see - " Harry stopped, his eyes on the door. Ginny could not see what he did, and she looked at him questioningly, a spark of shock igniting behind her eyes. What did he sense that she did not? Was it an intruder? Voldemort, back for revenge?

It was Fred.

Harry had not seen him in the area he supposed was some sort of heaven. He had been so occupied, with seeing his parents and talking with Dumbledore and watching over Ginny, that Harry had not looked for Fred. He supposed now that he had probably only been a few floors below the entire time; Ginny had not left her bedroom since she returned, and consequently, neither did Harry.

Harry stood up, and opened his mouth to speak to Fred - but he realized Ginny had risen, too. She had turned the Stone three times again. "Fred?" She whispered.

Harry suddenly felt as if he was intruding. Quietly, Harry stepped aside and for the first time since he had visited the world of the living, he faded away.

The interior of Ginny's bedroom changed smoothly into the whitish fog of the utopian, suburban neighborhood. Harry began to walk, not really paying attention to where he was going, lost in his thoughts. What would he have said to Fred if Harry had not wanted to give Ginny time alone with her brother? Harry had not planned anything - he had just opened his mouth and probably would have said whatever sorrowful, apologetic words would have spilled out.

He walked for a long while, hands in his pockets, until the happy meadow where Harry had found himself faded quite suddenly into Ginny's room. She had pulled him back. Fred had gone; Ginny was hastily trying to wipe away her tears. Harry sat quickly on the bed next to her and put an arm around her as best he could. If Harry pressed too hard, he passed right through her. So they sat there, Harry awkwardly holding her to the best of his abilities, Ginny weeping freely.

* * *

><p>The next year was torture for Harry. He understood why Ginny simply could not bear to let him return to the land of the dead; he as well found it difficult to leave her when she had just lost so many people that were close to her, himself included. And so he stayed with her for days at a time; he would have been at her side constantly anyway, visible or not. But the day after Ginny had first used the Resurrection Stone was Harry's funeral. The service was held in the Weasley's back garden, attended by several Order members that were close to the family and those who had died. Ginny was not leaving her room if she could help it, and on this instance, she refused point-blank to attend the funeral. He did not push her.<p>

It was possibly the most bizarre and terrible things Harry had ever experienced. He had already accepted his death; he did not feel sad for himself, but for his living company. Mrs. Weasley was near hysterics, nearly having given up trying to keep quiet. Mr. Weasley had his arm around her, struggling not to let tears loose himself. Percy sat with his arms tightly folded, looking as if he could not believe any of this could have happened; Bill was comforting Fleur in hushed whispers; George's face was down, hidden in dark shadow. There was no space between Ron and Hermione. They had pulled their chairs together and were clutching each other so tightly that when Hermione sobbed, Ron shook as well.

The words of the speakers who eulogized each of the dead floated in and out of Harry's ears; he did not take in any of the information, spending the time surveying the crowd closely. Several of the dead were standing in the back rows, or else by loved ones. Harry looked at them, and they smiled grimly. There was no reason for him to remain in the back: The living could not see him; Harry walked past the teary friends on the mismatched folding chairs and approached the row in which the bodies lay.

His own body was the only one that had been recovered, and such the only coffin of the dozen or so that was open - Fred's, Lupin's, and Tonks' names were among the names carved into the wood.

It was immensely strange to be looking down at his own dead body. The Weasleys had dressed it up to the neck in an effort to hide his gruesome wounds; they were only subtly noticeable in the way that his arms and legs bent at odd angles in some places; Voldemort had left his face untouched. Mrs. Weasley had evidently attempted to comb his hair, but just as they always were in life, the black strands were wild and untamed. His glasses were on, and his eyes closed; Harry's body looked quite peaceful in death.

He pulled his eyes away from his own face as the last speaker finished and the congregation stood. They milled about each other in relative quiet, the only sounds comforting whispers and despairing sobs. Harry hovered close to Ron and Hermione for a long while, wondering if they knew he was here. They stayed out in the garden for a bit, milling about the coffins, only returning to the Burrow when they had been alone for quite some time.

And so Harry found himself alone on the lawn. The scene was so tranquil; strong winds that he could not feel sent waves through the unkempt grass, the leaves of the nearby orchard trees swaying wildly. Here and there a gnome stumbled from one hole to another, blown here and there by the wind. Harry did not know how long he simply watched the place; that was one of the things about dying . . . one no longer notices nor minds the passage of time . . .

Ginny was looking out at him from her bedroom window. Harry's eyes found hers suddenly, as if he had known she was there all along. She was crying . . .

* * *

><p>Immersed in memories, Harry had not realized where his feet had been carrying him. He found himself in an empty field, the houses far behind him. The tall grass blowing in the breeze could have been a part of the Weasley's lawn; Harry could have only just left Ginny sobbing in the window.<p>

But now he had procrastinated enough. If anything these reminiscences had further convinced him that this task needed to be done.

After a long, heavy breath, Harry felt a familiar tug and realized that Ginny was calling him. The gentle breeze and smell of grass vanished, replaced with stale, heavy air. Harry opened his eyes and surveyed the scratched wood floors of Ginny's room before his eyes fell on the girl herself.

She was sitting on the rug, beaming up at him with a toothy smile. Her hands carefully replaced the Resurrection Stone back in its spot next to her, and returned to tearing systematically at a spare bit of parchment. The bits fluttered to the floor like yellowing tufts of cotton fluff. Some shreds were caught in her gnarled hair.

"I'm making snow." Ginny said happily.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, smiling as best he could, but he was not convinced it entirely hid his true emotions.

"Good job." He offered feebly.

She was silent, her attention directed at the parchment. Harry tried again, shifting uncomfortably.

"Ginny . . . I want to talk to you about something. It's important."

She could sense the seriousness in his tone. This time Ginny looked up at him, and her big, beautiful brown eyes were somehow more comprehending than they had been in a long time. It was almost as if those eyes were clear and unclouded madness, and Harry had his old girlfriend back for the first time in a long while.

This did not help.

"What d'you want?" Ginny asked curiously.

"I . . . " Harry took a breath. "I don't think you should be using . . . that . . . any more." He jerked his head at the Resurrection Stone.

Ginny's eyes followed Harry's very quickly, lingered on the cracked ring, and then very slowly rotated back to Harry. They were huge.

"What?" she asked, barely a whisper.

Harry swallowed. "I know you miss me, and Fred, and everyone else, and we miss you too. But - the Stone doesn't bring us back, not really. I think you know that."

Ginny did not speak. He had expected her to become weepy or anguished, but this cold, blank shock was somehow worse than any tantrum Ginny could throw.

"Please, Ginny." Harry had planned this out so thoroughly, but he had forgotten all of it. As he struggled to find the right words, Ginny finally spoke, in a terrible, quiet whisper.

"You don't want to talk to me?" She breathed.

"No, no, Ginny, I love spending time with you!" Harry amended hastily. "But even if you can't see me . . . you know I'd still be here, don't you?"

"You don't miss me." She sounded like a child about to cry. Harry ached to take her hand, to promise that he would never leave, but both of these things were unfortunately impossible.

"Ginny, I do miss you, I love you. And I know you don't like to hear it, but you . . ." Harry braced himself. "You're sick, Ginny. Dumbledore says it would be best if you . . . moved on, and I - I agree."

"I'm not sick! I'm not! And don't look at me like that," Ginny added hotly, as Harry opened his mouth to speak again, with a rather pitying look at Ginny. Now she looked angry as well as teary; the old rebellious fire was back in her eyes, but it did not make Harry smile as it once had.

"Ginny, I want you to stop using the Stone. I'm sorry, but it's the only way you can get better. You just . . . you have to start living again." Harry said.

"You think I'm mad." Her tone was low and dangerous. Harry at once attempted to rectify his mistake, but the damage was already done.

"Of course not - "

"Don't lie! Everyone thinks so, they all think I've lost it, but I haven't! I haven't, Harry!" She seemed somewhere between hysteria and anger.

Harry did not know what to do. Part of him ached to take her hand, to promise that he would never leave, but both of these things were unfortunately impossible. He knew though, however much it pained him, he was going to have to stop lying to Ginny sooner or later.

"Ginny. Ginny, look at me." Her brown eyes, expressing pain and anger and madness, but were blessedly dry, flitted up from the floor they had been studying intently. "You're not mad," - he hated the lying - "but staying in your room with me all the time can not be good for you."

"I'm not going out there."

"And why not?"

"Because we can be alone together here."

"What about Ron and Hermione, George, Percy, your Mum and Dad? You hardly ever see them. You never see anyone."

"I have you."

Harry sighed. How could he put this, without setting her off? He knew she had always listened to him better than anyone even in her madness, and somehow seemed more like herself when she was around him, but something told Harry that it might take months of arguing if Ginny was to see his point instead of just getting angry.

"Why won't you share me, then?" Was the best he could come up with.

"You're mine." Ginny said. "They can't know, they'll take you away from me."

"Just Ron and Hermione, then Ginny. Just tell them about the stone."

"No."

Harry was reminded forcibly of a small child refusing to share her favorite toy. He hated it.

"Ginny, if the Order could have a conversation with Dumbledore, we'd come up with something in five minutes on how to defeat Voldemort - "

"He'd have a plan if he could just talk to them? Dumbledore doesn't know anything more than they do! Nobody knows what to do! We're finished!"

"Don't say that!"

"I'll say whatever I want!" She screamed.

"Ginny - "

"Don't you dare start on me! You think this is easy? You think any of us are having the time of our lives here?"

"I'm still fighting this war as well - "

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Ginny bellowed. "AND I'M STILL HERE! STILL FIGHTING! STILL WAITING FOR YOU-KNOW-WHO TO STOP LAUGHING IN MY FACE AND JUST END IT ALREADY - "

The door burst open with a bang and Ron stood there, closely followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Percy, and Hermione, all wearing similar expressions of shock and concern. Their searching eyes saw right through Harry and fell apon Ginny, who appeared madder than ever, her face red and her hair wild. There was a moment of tense stillness in which the only noise was the sound of Ginny's heavy breathing, who made no attempt to explain herself to the rest of her family.

Ginny fixed her gaze directly on Harry.

"I'm not sick." She said, and she passed straight through Harry, collapsed onto her bed, and finally burst into tears.


	7. Moon and Sun

**Harry Potter Is Dead**

**Chapter 7 | Moon and Sun**

* * *

><p>Hermione had brought a book with her outside that evening, under the shade of the orchard trees, to read and to think. Instead Golpalott's Third Law: A Comprehensive Study lay on top of the gnarled roots at the base of the trunk, open but forgotten. As fascinating as she found the subject, Hermione's head was simply too full of thoughts for potions to interest her at the reading the same sentence at least ten times over without taking in a single word, Hermione finally gave it up as a bad job. She pushed it aside in favor of watching the sunset, marveling that this was the first time in a long while that a book had failed to capture her complete, undivided attention.<p>

"It's quite beautiful here." said a dreamy voice next to Hermione.

Hermione jumped violently. She had not noticed Luna approaching until she spoke, just a few steps away.

"Oh, have I scared you?" Luna asked.

"No, Luna . . . I'm fine, you just . . . surprised me." Hermione removed her hand from her wand pocket. Even now, after all she'd been though, she still leapt a foot in the air every time someone spoke suddenly. Hermione frowned.

"That's good. Lots of people liked to pop out and frighten me when I was in school. They thought it was funny. I rather disliked it." She said casually.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the grass. She had never talked to Luna much before: They were so different; Hermione had no idea how to respond. But Luna spoke again, unfazed by Hermione's silence.

"But I can see I've interrupted a deep thought. I suppose if you want we can just watch the sun. It's rather pretty today." Luna turned stoically in the direction of the fading light, closed her eyes, and began to hum. Hermione thought better than to ask what she was doing.

"It's fine, Luna, I'd love to talk to you." Hermione said awkwardly. Luna opened her eyes, ceased humming, and smiled.

"I like the Burrow." Luna chugged on, undeterred. "I remember the last time I came here, it was all cleaned up for a wedding, but I like the mess better."

"I can't say I enjoy the gnomes, though." Hermione replied.

Luna turned her protuberant eyes on Hermione, her faint eyebrows raised in surprise. "I think gnomes are fascinating. I was bit by one once. Daddy says their saliva has all sorts of magical properties, he's spent years studying them. He's discovered some incredible things."

"Oh." Hermione said. "They just keep swearing at me."

"Yes, this particular bunch is rather rude. I think they're quite funny, though, aren't they?"

Hermione gave a small, polite smile.

"Still, I do miss being able to explore. Oh, look, you can just see it from here - " Luna craned her neck, and then pointed at a little valley between two hills, from which a shimmering line traced its way lazily through the countryside. "I used to go all the way down to the end of that stream by my house when I was little, it went on for miles. Or, at least, it seemed like it did, when I was small. I haven't been in a long while."

"I haven't left this house for more than two hours in at least year." Hermione said quietly.

"Oh, I understand." Luna said. "I bet you feel as if you should be doing something, you know, to stop You-Know-Who, but instead we've all got to lay low until we can figure out a plan. You find the inaction bothersome, don't you?"

Hermione blinked. "Yes." She said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Well, you're a Gryffindor, aren't you?"

" . . . Right. I am."

Luna made no attempt to explain further, and an awkward silence fell. Hermione, afraid Luna might start humming again, attempted to think of something else to say, but to no avail. Thankfully, after a long pause, Luna piped up yet again.

"You haven't seen Dean near here, have you?" She asked.

"No, I haven't. Why?"

"Well, I haven't seen him all day, so I thought I would go and check on him. That's what I was doing when I found you."

"He hasn't been doing very well, has he?" This was a bit of an understatement: Hermione hardly ever saw Dean; he always seemed to be up in his room, hardly speaking, even during the Order meeting, and sitting through meals with a stony look on his face.

"No, I'm afraid not. He misses Seamus very much."

Hermione did not answer, but this time, it was not because she felt awkward or unsure due to Luna's presence. Hermione knew exactly what Dean was feeling: She had felt it herself; hell, she still felt it now.

"I think he feels guilty as well, in addition to being sad." Luna said quietly.

Hermione looked up. "He must know it wasn't his fault - "

"No, I don't think he does." Luna continued. "Seamus died trying to save us all. I feel it too, a bit, but I imagine it must be much worse for Dean because he and Seamus were so close. And there's also Neville . . . "

"There's a chance he might not be dead, though, right?" Hermione said hopefully.

"I hope so . . . a lot of evidence does say otherwise, but . . . " Luna, who had gradually become more and more somber as the conversation wore on, suddenly looked away from the now dark countryside and smiled brightly at Hermione. The sun had now set, but even in the setting darkness, her eyes sparkled with hope. "I just have this feeling that Neville's still alive. I don't know why, I can't explain it. But I think he's all right."

* * *

><p>The light of a newly risen moon filtered through the barred window with a watery sort of weakness. It did not to much to illuminate the two figures that stood inside of the small tower cell, the man slumped against a wall for support, the woman standing over him with an arm outstretched. The dim light hid their faces in shadow; it disguised the woman's rage-twisted features, and the man's many gruesome injuries.<p>

The man was not afraid. The wand pointed at his face was surely about to do irreparable damage, as it always did, but for some reason he could not explain, the fear he had lived with, welcomed, for so long . . . it did not come.

"I offer you one - last - chance." The woman said through gritted teeth, and she punctuated each word with a curse; on the ground, the man writhed, but did not scream. Frustrated, she bent down to where he lay and grasped his head so that her fingernails dug into his face, her own inches from his. "Tell me where they are." She threatened.

Beneath her viselike grip, Neville grinned and began to laugh.

The woman screamed and threw him to the side, his head striking the floor. Stars burst in front of Neville's eyes: The woman's imposing form drifted in and out of focus; he raised shaking hand felt blood trickling from his temple. He might have lain there for an hour, or else a second, he could not tell.

"Bellatrix." The high, cold voice sounded without any previous warning of the speaker's presence; the woman, who had raised her wand in fury once more, jumped and spun around into a low bow.

"My Lord . . ." Bellatrix murmured reverently, but even in his dazed state Neville could tell she was afraid.

"He has not spoken?" Voldemort inquired.

". . . N-No, my Lord, but I assure you - "

"Why have you failed me, Bellatrix?"

She froze, eyes huge. After a very long moment, she regained her voice. "I - My Lord, I am trying - "

"Oh, you try. I am forgiving, Bellatrix, but not so much as to ignore your shortcomings simply on the pretense that you are trying."

Bellatrix opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak, and then bowed her head like a child caught in wrongdoing.

"You have served me well in the past," Voldemort said murderously, "It will not do for you to go the same way as poor Lucius . . . When I entrusted to you the job of discovering the whereabouts of the Order of the Phoenix, I expected you to bring me an answer within a week. But it has been months, Bellatrix. Months. I had expected so much more from you. Now I see that this is a task that I can not trust to any but myself."

Bellatrix backed obediently into a shadowy corner without a word.

Slowly and deliberately, Voldemort pointed his wand at Neville's face. He tilted his head, a thin smile playing at his lips, but it faltered infinitesimally as he realized that he was inducing no terror in Neville whatsoever -

"Crucio!"

And then the fear rushed back to Neville in a great wave of pain; a thousand knives pierced every inch of his body, the flames of Hell were surely burning him alive, and he screamed and screamed, burning his throat raw -

As suddenly as it had come, the curse was over, having lasted only a few seconds. Neville groaned and shifted on the floor; the pain ebbed away slowly, leaving invisible bruises on his body. But he barely had time to suck air back into his lungs before Voldemort, scarlet eyes wide with surprise and fury, yelled again:

"Crucio!"

Once more Neville could not see for the pain; he was nothing, nothing but terror and torture and fire -

Again the pain abated much too quickly, and again Neville had only a second to breathe before it returned, and was gone, and then was back once more. Voldemort tried again and again, apoplectic rage growing as his spells failed him each and every time.

At last Voldemort screamed in frustration and ceased his attacks. Neville smiled up at him through a mouthful of blood, and Voldemort brought down his wand on him once more in a slashing motion; Neville was knocked down as if he had been punched by an invisible, iron hand. Dazed, unable to get up, Neville watched Voldemort give him one murderous look before he rounded apon Bellatrix, who shrunk back like a wounded animal.

"Why does it not work, Bellatrix?" His voice was high, furious, and as cold as death.

"I - I know not, my Lord! M-My c-curses . . . as well they have n-not - they are not as strong to him as they are on others . . . please, please, my Lord . . . " She fell into a sort of subservient silence. Voldemort hovered, Neville knew, an inch from striking her down.

"You would do well to continue on." He said icily, and Bellatrix, stooped in a low bow, mustered the courage to look cautiously up at her master as if she did not dare become hopeful. But her master did not elaborate on whether or not he had forgiven her; for a moment later, with a swish of a dark cloak against rough stones, he was gone.

Bellatrix dropped to her knees. Her fingers fumbled with the key she had left on the floor when she had entered the cell early that evening, and she shook as she rose. But as she unlocked the door, Bellatrix paused. Even in the dim light, Neville could see her expression as clear as day: A look of utmost loathing, a twisted, ugly expression that mutated her normally terrifying features into something truly monstrous.

She offered Neville no taunts, no insults, no warning; her wand flashed downward in a silver blur and then everything went black.

* * *

><p>Neville lay on his back, still stunned. How long he had been knocked out, he could hardly say; it must have been a few hours, judging by the way the moon now lit his cell considerably better - or had it been a full day? Neville did not care; all he knew right now was pain and soreness and tiredness; whatever Bellatrix's final, vengeful curse had been, it had worked considerably better than the others she had used on him that night. Nevertheless he willed himself to move again, and, with a groan, he sat up and examined the damage: the injuries stung, but Bellatrix had inflicted far worse before. Neville tore a strip of cloth from his robe and wrapped it tightly around a gash on his arm. He would be all right.<p>

Neville propped himself up against the door of his cell, so that the light from the tiny window fell on his bruised, puffy face. He had a clear view of the moon from where he sat, full, and shining brightly. Neville wondered if Dean, Luna, Andromeda or even little Teddy were looking up at that same moon; whether it be through iron bars like himself, or through cool night air. Instinct told him that his sacrifice had not been enough, that his friends were dead or worse, and yet he could not stop himself from holding onto the tiny hope that somehow, they had survived . . .

Try it again. Said a voice in the back of his head. She'll answer back this time, I know it.

Fat chance. Sneered another, doubtful voice. She hasn't replied before, and she won't now.

But still, it won't hurt to try, will it?

This same argument played through his head several times a day, and each time, the same voice eventually won him over. Sighing, Neville pulled himself into a standing position on the bars of his cell. He walked over to the far corner of the small room, where the moonlight did not fall, and did not illuminate the small golden coin that lay there, hidden with darkness and a layer of dirt. Neville picked up the galleon and rubbed the grime away with his finger, so that the golden surface glinted a little bit even in the dark. As he watched the numbers engraved on the edge of the coin, just barely legible, began to change before his eyes, spelling out whole, tiny words. The glowed hot in his hands, but Neville held it tightly in spite of the heat, silently hoping, praying that this time it would finally work.

* * *

><p>The moon which had sent light filtering through the bars of Neville's cell now rose above a different scene: the charred remains of what was once the house and home of Mallory Millay. Though it left no obvious signs, the Dark magic that had brought about the destruction of the little cottage was still just noticeable in the stillness of the air.<p>

Buried beneath blackened planks of wood and the cracked bricks of a fallen chimney, a small golden coin began to glow. The words engraved around the edge of the Galleon blurred and changed, red with heat: Now a new message was emblazoned on the hot metal. Luna. I am alive and held within Hogwarts. Please, please answer. Neville.

But the entire area was deserted; none, man or beast, ever witnessed the spectacle that so often occurred beneath the ruins of Mallory Millay's humble cottage. And Luna, speaking of hope and happiness so many miles away, had no idea that the fake Galleon's light was now fading, the glow receding, and her golden ticket to Hogwarts now reverting once more into an ordinary coin.


	8. Lord Voldemort's Plan

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 8 | Lord Voldemort's Plan**

* * *

><p>The day dawned clear, bright, and still. Chilly for May, George was reluctant to leave his bed that morning; he was warm, comfortable, and most importantly, <em>tired.<em> He had made it clear to his mother a long time ago that he was not to be woken until at least ten or eleven, yet here the bedside clock read only eight thirty and already she was stomping up and down the stairs, rousing his siblings from their beds as if they had a scarlet steam engine to catch. Mrs. Weasley's voice carried from the floor above, as clear as if she had been standing a foot away.

"Up, Ron . . . _up_, I said! Kingsley's colleague from Croatia will be Flooing in any minute and you'll want to- "

"All right, M'up, M'up . . ." Ron mumbled irritably. In his bed, George sat up a little straighter.

"Don't use that tone with me." Mrs. Weasley threatened. "Now _go._"

The floorboards creaked above as Ron heaved himself out of his bed, grumbling imperceptibly. There was a series of _bangs_ as Mrs. Weasley took the stairs two at a time. A moment later she burst into George's bedroom, an overflowing basket of laundry under one arm.

"Kingsley's friend from the Ministry - "

"I heard." George said, pushing off his covers and rolling his eyes up at the ceiling. "I'll be down in a minute."

Mrs. Weasley, slightly pink in the face, pursed her lips and left to go rouse the others. George threw on a t-shirt and jeans and shuffled, bleary-eyed, down into the kitchen.

The downstairs was still filling. George's father was meandering about the living room, glancing at the grate every few minutes. Percy and Hermione were seated at the kitchen table, both fully dressed and washed, looking as if they had been awake for hours. Andromeda played with Teddy on the sofa, and as George entered, Ron came stumbling down the stairs behind.

After a few minutes of waiting, after Dean, Luna, and Mrs. Weasley had arrived, the glowing embers in the fireplace suddenly flared up into bright green flames. Kingsley stepped neatly out of the grate and onto the rug, followed by a stout man with a weary, sooty face and a strange hat that did not entirely conceal the little bald spot on the crown of his head.

"Arthur Weasley, yes?" He said thickly, in an accent difficult for George to place. Croatian, his mother had said? The man swept off his funny little hat and clasped Mr. Weasley's hand. "Emerik Branimir. Where ees ze Death Eater?"

"He's around back. Right this way."

The procession trooped out onto the lawn, towards the outline of Malfoy's small tent against the orchard trees, just outside of the Burrow's protective enchantments. They halted at the edge of the magical border, unsure of what to do with themselves, until Branimir cleared his throat and pulled out his wand.

"I think you, young man, vill state the Vows, as discussed?" He said, indicating Bill, who nodded. "Very good. If you vill follow, please."

Bill and Branimir vanished within the folds of the little tent for a moment, but soon returned, pulling Malfoy with them. Malfoy dragged his feet, stalling, and George knew why; the backstabbing little bastard was having second thoughts.

"Scum." George heard Ron mutter under his breath. George offered him a small smirk.

Bill forced Malfoy to stand upright and stuck out his hand. Malfoy straightened, gathering what little dignity he had deluded himself into believing he still possessed, and grasped Bill's hand as well.

"Now, young man, ven you are ready." Branimir said, flourishing his wand.

"Malfoy." Bill said. "Do you swear unwavering and unanimous loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix?"

Malfoy swallowed. "Yes." he answered, and a bright tongue of flame shot out of Branimir's wand, circling around Bill's and Malfoy's clasped hands, like some enchanted, unbreakable chain.

"Do you promise to assist the Order in any way you can, by all means necessary, to ensure their success in this war?"

"Yes." A second rope of flame erupted from Branimir's entwined itself around the first. Malfoy attempted to look away, shuffling nervously, but Bill fixed his gaze steadily on Malfoy, holding his own.

"And will you never return to You-Know-Who's service, but instead work as hard as you can to bring him and his regime down?"

This time Malfoy hesitated, but only for a moment. "I will." He said finally, and a final thread of flame twisted and snaked around Malfoy's and Bill's hands, glowed bright for a moment, and then dissipated like smoke in the wind.

* * *

><p>"This is really excellent, Molly." said Kingsley.<p>

Next to him, Branimir nodded, mouth still full of bacon. "Yes, yes! Quite right, dear lady, I have never tasted such a meal before!"

"You shouldn't have gone to all the trouble." Kingsley said.

"Nonsense!" She chirped, flushing with pride and setting a jar of jam on the table. "No trouble at all!"

Despite Kingsley and Branimir's polite declination, Mrs. Weasley refused point-blank to let them leave without breakfast. Once the Vow was made, the Weasleys and their guests had trooped back into the kitchen and sat down to Mrs. Weasley's usual glorious feast of a meal, all of which had been somehow whipped up in ten minutes.

There was a long moment in which the only sound was the chirping of birds and the scraping of forks and knives on plates. Then:

"So d'you reckon he's safe to trust now?" Dean said.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say trust," Bill swallowed his eggs, "but I'm confident we've closed all the loopholes. If he tries anything funny . . . well, you know what'll happen."

"Well, if anything I'm glad we're still keeping him out of the house." Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron nodded. "You know . . . I don't even think we need him here any more at all. I mean, d'you even think he'll be much help now? We have all the information he's got."

"True." Luna said thoughtfully.

Silence hung over the kitchen once more, the same thoughts undoubtedly running through all of their minds: _Malfoy's no longer useful. We have all of his information. Voldemort's getting closer to reaching his goal every day, and we still don't know enough. So how the hell are we supposed to stop him?_

"I'd rather we kept an eye on him, actually. Just in case." Mr. Weasley said.

"And it can't hurt to keep him here, can it?" Dean said.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Yeah, can't hurt."

George sighed. "So . . . what now?" He asked. "How are we supposed to get any more information? What do we _do_?"

"Well, you're not being very helpful, are you, George?" Percy said, and as he spoke, there was that familiar, snide tone in his voice; the shadow of his old, pompous self just visible in the way he stuck up his nose. "If you want to know what the plan is, try thinking up one yourself."

"I don't see you doing much work here." George retorted in a low, threatening growl.

"Let's go over what we know already." said Kingsley evenly, putting his knife and fork down and shortly dismissing the tension between Percy and George that crackled in the air like electricity. "You-Know-Who's making these Horcrux things, which very nearly make him immortal. Harry's destroyed most of them, though, so there's only one left - "

"The snake." Ron said.

"The snake." Kingsley nodded. "We've got to kill that, and then keep You-Know-Who from finding a way to create a Horcrux that can't be destroyed."

"But ve do dot know how." Branimir said.

"No," Kingsley admitted. "If he's still at Hogwarts - which he most likely is - then it's going to be damn near impossible to get in. It has even more protection on it than it did when Dumbledore was alive. Dark magic, terrible stuff; word has it the castle's become more like a prison than a school these days. The kids aren't even allowed home for the summer any more."

"It's a good thing we have Bill, then." Mr. Weasley smiled weakly, and Bill returned it halfheartedly.

"I can do a few things," Bill said. "But only a few. With enchantments of that scale, the most I could manage is to weaken the protection a bit. Entering directly is out of the question."

"Well, it's a start." Hermione said, in a rather transparent attempt to be positive.

"Not much of one." Dean said.

"Hermione's right." Luna piped up. "If we're going to get through this, we've got to have faith."

There was a short pause.

"Well said." Mr. Weasley smiled.

"It doesn't mean we've given up." Charlie said. "Or that we don't have a way in. We just have to find a loophole, some entrance that the Death Eaters haven't - "

"Mum."

Although the voice was strained and quiet, it instantly commanded the attention of every single person in the room. Eleven heads whipped around to the bottom of the staircase, where Ginny's emaciated form stood, half-hiding herself in the doorframe. Her hair was as wild as her eyes, which bulged out of their sockets, staring unblinkingly. Her jaw was set tight, making her look as if she was in pain. One hand was lost in her tangle of hair, the other closed in a fist, beating incessantly against the wall.

"Ginny, dear!" Mrs. Weasley cooed maternally, though surprise was also evident in her tone. "I thought you were getting ready for your nap! Have you got your pyjamas on? Are you ready for your book?" She fluttered across the room and pulled her daughter into a sheltering hug.

"No - mum, no - " Ginny muttered. She weakly tried to fend off her mother's arms. "I have to - to - important - "

"Have to what, dear?" Mrs. Weasley purred dismissively, still gently attempting to usher Ginny up the stairs. "Come, I'll read you _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ - "

"No book!" Ginny shouted, and the only sound was a collective intake of breath from those seated at the table. George dimly registered the scrape of a chair against the scuffed floors, and suddenly he realized he was on his feet.

"No book." Ginny repeated, softer. "This is important."

Mrs. Weasley no longer tried to put her arm around her daughter. "Well, tell us, dear." She said encouragingly, but curiosity and foreboding were evident in her tone as well.

"Who is - " Branimir began.

"Shh." Said Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, took a deep breath, and then closed it quickly. She turned her head to the side, so that her hair fell over her face, eyes staring at something that wasn't there.

"No, no I don't - please . . . " Her face crumpled, and she paused. A small tear dripped from the end of her nose, and then she nodded. "I know."

When Ginny looked up again, she appeared determined and strong, and when she spoke, her voice was full of a sudden life that had not been present there in a long time.

"He's found a way to make his final Horcrux, but it's going to be a bit before he can act on it. He's currently creating a potion of his own invention, to which the Horcrux is added. If he consumes this potion, he's going to become immortal. However - it's extremely difficult to make. In order for the potion to work effectively . . . he'll need to use the souls of one thousand dead and one thousand living, added to the potion by some horrible spell he's thought up. He's remaining at Hogwarts so that he can use the students to make himself immortal. He'll give them all the Dementor's Kiss if we don't stop him soon."

Shock reverberated through George's body. The stunned silence that followed was physically real, tangible, everywhere; George could feel it hanging in the air, like a pillow against his face, sucking the breath from his lungs. Ginny's words streamed like a silver ribbon through his head, repeating, echoing, filling the empty silence of the room with the force and volume of a stadium crowd.

_"You-Know-Who's found a way . . . final Horcrux . . . immortal . . . one thousand dead and one thousand living . . _."

George could not process it. Whether it was because of the sheer gravity of the words just spoken, or the fact that they had come from his mentally unstable little sister, none of it seemed to register in George's head. He did not want to believe it; it seemed absurd, impossible . . . how could Voldemort truly be immortal? And how could Ginny possibly know this?

The logical, sensible part of George wanted to dismiss Ginny's words, to chalk it up to her insanity and her instability. But her face as she said it, and her tone . . . it was as if, for the first time since Harry's death, she had actually understood what was coming out of her mouth. Ginny's madness had turned her into a child, sensitive and innocent and afraid. Now, all of a sudden, it was as if she had aged ten years. She sounded like herself again, and it scared George.

George was not aware of how much time had passed since Ginny finished speaking. All he knew was that there was a long, stunned pause, and then at last, his father found his voice.

"Ginny, how - how do you _know_ this?" Mr. Weasley stammered incredulously, his eyes wide.

She swallowed and seemed to steel herself. When she spoke, it was as if the answer took great personal strain to give.

"Harry . . . Harry told me."


	9. Harry

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 9 | Harry**

* * *

><p><em>"Ginny, how - how do you know this?" Mr. Weasley stammered incredulously, his eyes wide.<em>

_She swallowed and seemed to steel herself. When she spoke, it was as if the answer took great strain to give._

_"Harry . . . Harry told me."_

* * *

><p><strong>A Few Hours Before<strong>

* * *

><p>To say that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had never quite gotten along was a spectacular understatement of massive proportions. In life they had been sworn enemies, natural opposites, clashing whenever they crossed paths. And yet, however much Harry disliked Malfoy and the choices he made, Harry had never been in the belief that Malfoy's death had been entirely deserved.<p>

Harry had not spoken to Malfoy since their last encounter within the Room of Requirement, and had not been present at his death. He had only found out about the nature of Malfoy's demise as he was questioning the other dead fighters shortly after the Battle's end. Harry admitted that when he had first heard, his heart had momentarily swelled with a sort of vengeful happiness that he now felt ashamed to remember. Killed by his own master . . . struck down by Voldemort without even knowing what had hit him, or what he had done to deserve it. At first Harry believed that Malfoy had received his comeuppance. However, the more Harry dwelled on Malfoy's death, the more sickening it seemed.

In death, there is no longer any reason to remain tied up in the affairs of the living. Harry's case, of course, because of the Resurrection Stone, was the exception, but to any other member of the dead, there is nothing more to do than to simply exist. There is nothing the dead can do to effect the lives of those who remain on Earth, and so death brings about a quiet peace. It breaks feuds, erases grudges, and fades scars. There is no reason to fight; a dead man's battles are already over.

Harry had spent the past year turning these thoughts over in his head. Owning to the fact that Malfoy had been killed by him, Harry assumed that in death Malfoy no longer harbored any kind feelings for the dark wizard he had once served. It was more than likely that Malfoy no longer cared about the war or its outcome. Harry wondered if he should seek out Malfoy and perhaps . . . make amends. He was present as well in this quiet, peaceful place after all; Harry had seen him from afar on a few instances, but never approached. The opportunity for forgiveness had always been there, and yet, quite uncharacteristically, Harry had never acted.

Harry had been contemplating this task for a year. Soon, he resolved, it was going to be done; he kept telling himself. Ironically enough, however, though Harry had previously spent hours searching the endless streets of this quiet paradise looking for Malfoy, Harry found him when he was least expecting it.

Harry had gone for a walk and ended up seated on a park bench, absently watching small children chase each other around a small playground. He was not in the best mood. Ginny would be awake soon, and that meant she would summon him and the day would be spent by her side. A day lost. Just like the one before it.

As Harry observed the children climbing about on the slides and swings, one of them leapt up from the sandbox and ran towards the bench next to Harry, its occupant blocked by the trunk of a tree.

"Draco, Draco look what I've found, isn't it pretty?" The little girl was no more than four or five, her platinum pigtails bouncing as she hopped up and down, waving a plastic tiara in her tiny fist.

Harry straightened a little in his seat. As the occupant of the other bench leaned forward to examine the girl's crown, he slid into Harry's view: Draco Malfoy sat there, not ten feet away. There was a happy light in his gray eyes that had never been there in life; Harry wondered if he had ever seen Malfoy smile so sincerely before.

"That's beautiful, Sylvie. Where did you get it?" He twirled the silver plastic in his fingers, examining the fake fuchsia gems like a mock jeweler.

"I dug it up in the sandbox, we're playing looking-for-dinosaurs, but _I _found a crown!"

"You must be a really good paleontologist, then."

"What's that?"

"That's what you call the people who look for dinosaur bones. Paleontologists."

"Pally-on-toller-gist."

Malfoy laughed. "That's it, Sylvie."

"Pally-on-toller-gist! I'm a pally-on-toller-gist!"

"And now," Malfoy placed the tiara on Sylvie's head, tucking her wispy blonde hair neatly behind her ears. "You're a princess."

Sylvie giggled, gave Malfoy a hug, and then ran off again towards the sandbox at top speed, calling to the other children, "Look! I'm a pally-on-toller-gist! A princess pally-on-toller-gist!"

Malfoy watched Sylvie dash away with the ghost of a smile on his face. He leaned back in his seat, glanced around the happy little park, and quite suddenly realized that Harry was there.

"Potter." He said, surprised.

"Malfoy," Harry responded. Of all the thought that had gone into initiating this moment, Harry had not spent a second planning what he was going to say. How the hell are you supposed to start a conversation with someone you hated for seven years?

Though Malfoy's grin had vanished the moment he spotted Harry, his lips were pressed firmly together in what Harry guessed was a sort of hesitant smile. He at least took it as a good sign that Malfoy did not simply get up and leave.

There was a pointed silence.

"That was, ah, my older sister." Malfoy said, to fill the space.

Harry blinked. "Older?"

"She died when I was three."

"Oh . . . I'm sorry."

Malfoy shook his head. "Nah, I hardly knew her . . . It's nice to have been able to meet her."

There was another bloated pause in which children laughed and birds sang, but the two men remained quiet.

"Er, Malfoy," Harry offered, "I was actually looking for you."

Malfoy frowned, confused. "You were?"

"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you." Harry took a deep breath and began. "We - hated - each other back at Hogwarts. But . . . well, now that we're both dead . . . none of that really matters any more. I . . . don't want to hold a grudge."

The crease deepened into a frown. "I tried to hand you over to him. To get you killed."

"Well, it happened anyway, in case you hadn't noticed."

The lines around Malfoy's mouth tightened in a sort of grim smile. "To both of us."

The words, _Well, you picked the wrong side, then, didn't you? _popped into Harry's head, but he suppressed them quickly.

"I don't support him any more." Malfoy was saying. His voice shook with the effort it took to use his real name: "Voldemort."

"I'm not surprised." Harry said.

"My whole family, too. They're spying on him. Planning to betray him."

"I know." Harry said, and when Malfoy furrowed his brow, Harry elaborated, "I've been . . . looking after some people in the Order of the Phoenix. I saw your father arrive at the Burrow."

"The what?"

"Ron Weasley's house."

"Ah."

Yet again the conversation dwindled to nothingness. Annoyed at beating around the bush, Harry stood up.

"Look. I'm not asking you to be my best mate or anything. I just don't want to hate you any more."

Harry held his breath while the words sank in. Malfoy leaned forward, pondering the offer. Then, after the lengthiest silence yet, Malfoy got to his feet as well.

"All right, Potter." he said. "No hard feelings." Malfoy faced the playground. "Sylvie! It's time to go!"

Sylvie's head popped up from behind a tree. "Five more minutes?"

"Five minutes, but when I say it's time to go, you have to be a good girl and come right away, all right?"

"Okay!" Sylvie shouted. She was already reaching for the lowest branch of the tree; within minutes she was ten feet off the ground, climbing with ease.

Malfoy turned back to Harry. "Don't expect me to send you holiday cards or anything."

Harry gave a small, awkward smile. "No."

Malfoy put his hands in his pockets. "Well . . . goodbye, Potter."

Harry nodded goodbye and then started on his way. But before he could turn the corner, a shout made him stop.

"Potter!"

Harry looked around. Malfoy was closing the gap between them.

"You said you saw my dad, you know what he knows. But my mother," Malfoy said, "I've been watching her."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"She's figured it out." Malfoy continued. "I don't know what good it'll do, seeing as you're dead as well, but I guess the ruddy Chosen One should know as well."

Blood was thundering through Harry's brain. "Well then tell me, Malfoy!"

"Voldemort's trying to brew a potion, one that he's invented himself. If he creates a Horcrux, puts it in the cauldron, and then adds the other ingredients. . . " Malfoy suddenly looked sick. "In order for the potion to work, he's got to trade in the lives of others in exchange for his. It requires the souls of _a thousand_ people . . . and then the souls of a thousand more dead. If he drinks it . . . that's it. He'll be immortal."

He could not believe what he had just heard. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Malfoy," Harry said. "_Thank you._"

* * *

><p>Adrenaline pumped through Harry's veins; was it possible to feel so terrified, so <em>alive, <em>when one was dead? He turned the corner so fast that he skidded on the paved road, running as fast as he could towards his parents' cottage. Dumbledore had been there when he left, having tea with Lily. Praying that Dumbledore had not yet headed home, Harry burst through the kitchen door, too out of breath to explain himself right away.

Lily shrieked and jumped out of her seat, then breathed a sigh of relief and gave an embarrassed smile, immediately recognizing Harry. Dumbledore paused with one arm halfway through the sleeve of his cloak.

"Harry," He said genially, without any regard whatsoever to Harry's disheveled appearance and dramatic entrance, "How pleasant to see you."

"Voldemort," Harry gasped. "I know his plan."

There was a thud of feet on stairs, and James appeared in the doorway. "Lily - I heard a shout - is - ?"

"It's just Harry, James." she said, taking her husband's hand. She turned her large eyes back to Harry. "What do you mean, you know his plan? _How?_"

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy told me - "

"_Malfoy?_" James said incredulously. "Are you kidding me? You're going to trust that little son of a - "

"James!" Lily said, flashing him a warning look.

"Please, Harry. Continue." said Dumbledore quietly. His cloak had returned to the coatrack and, just as if he was sitting at the Headmaster's desk at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, peering at Harry over the tips of his fingers.

And so Harry told them everything, in a great rush of words; how he had found Malfoy, how they had made amends, and how Draco's mother had gathered the information they needed to figure out the rest of Voldemort's plan.

When he finished, Lily let out a long breath. "Two thousand people." she shook her head. "Living and dead. It's _awful_."

"We can't let this happen." James said.

"We don't know how to get in, though." Harry said. The rush of chemicals that had powered his sprint to his parents' house was starting to fade; now more questions set in, taking the place of those that had just been answered, like a hydra's head. "Hogwarts is near impenetrable . . . "

"Incomplete as our knowledge still is," Dumbledore said "It is still imperative that our living comrades within the Order of the Phoenix are informed as well."

Harry swallowed.

Dumbledore looked directly into his eyes. "Harry." He said. "I have been patient with you this past year. I understand that you harbor great feelings of affection for Ginny, just as I understand that her deteriorating mental health must be a subject of great personal anguish for you. However." Dumbledore inclined his head. A knot formed in Harry's throat. "I digress that the relaying of this information ranks of significantly higher importance than Miss Weasley's predicament. "

The knot that had formed in Harry's throat prevented him from speaking. His eyes were downcast, unable to hold Dumbledore's piercing gaze.

"You know what needs to be done."

Harry swallowed once more and nodded. "I'll make sure they know." He said, looking back up at Dumbledore. His voice sounded oddly soft as he said it.

For an instant the room swam before Harry's eyes. Dumbledore's piercing gaze was reduced to nothing more than a pair of bright blue pinpricks, and then they were gone; replaced by the familiar interior of Ginny's bedroom.

"Hello, Harry!" Ginny said happily from behind him. Harry turned and found her standing by the windowsill, a small, ceramic pot in one hand, the Resurrection Stone clasped in another. The ring flashed in and out of sight; her fingers never seemed to stop, twisting it this way and that, spinning it around, sliding it on and off. Harry swallowed.

Ginny held the potted plant out to him. "Look, Harry, look what I have." She held out the pot, and now Harry saw that the pot was not in fact empty. A fluorescent bug sat at the bottom, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. Ginny scooped it carefully out of the pot and held it close to her nose for inspection. "Mummy and Luna brought him from the garden. Isn't he pretty?"

Harry could not force himself to smile. "Ginny?"

"Mm?" Ginny answered distractedly, still examining the bug with great interest.

Harry moved closer to her. "We need to talk."

She looked up. In her hand, the bug crawled back into its ceramic container, and Ginny placed the pot back on the windowsill. Now both hands closed around the stone.

"I've just found out some new information." Harry continued. "Something very important. About Voldemort, and how to stop him."

Harry could see in her eyes that she understood what was about to happen. Raising his arms so that they hovered but an inch above her shoulders, unable to touch but as close as they could get, Harry went on. "I need to let the Order know about this. And the only way that's going to be possible is if - "

"No, Harry." Ginny said. She took a step back, and the tips of Harry's fingers slipped through her shoulder blades.

"Ginny, can't you - "

"No - no, I - "

A flush was creeping up Ginny's neck, spreading across her cheeks, staining her face an angry red. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out; immobilized by anguish, she stared at Harry with eyes that held no warmth. Never had she appeared so inhuman. Harry, who knew her the best, who could calm her when she was angry, whom she listened to just a bit better than her family members, felt the tiniest spark of fear.

Harry closed the gap between them in one step. He did not allow himself to plan ahead; Harry feared that if he did so, he would stop himself before the deed was done.

"Ginny." he said. "Listen to me. I know it's hard for you; it's hard for me as well. But I need you to do this for me. Please."

"They'll - they'll know, they'll ask me and I'll have to tell them - tell them you - " As quickly as Ginny found her voice, she lost it again. Her words dissolved into mere gasps and splutters, but still her eyes remained quite dry: instead, Ginny let out a long, pained wail.

"Look at yourself!" Harry suddenly burst, and her cry stuck in her throat. She looked up at him, so many emotions shimmering in her wide, brown eyes: fear, hurt, anger, pain.

"Do you want to stop Voldemort?"

Unable to find words, Ginny nodded, bemused.

"You'd rather let him kill more innocent people just so you can chat with me in private whenever you feel like it?" Harry felt as if he had consumed a gallon of firewhisky; he had not realized how much he had been aching to say these words until they tumbled out of his mouth. "I love you! I love you so much I can hardly think straight! And you _know _I love more than anything that we are able to talk to each other. But I'm gone, Ginny. I'm gone. And as much as I love coming to see you," Harry almost could not finish, "We're cheating death."

"But - but I can't - " Words failed Ginny. She looked as if she had just lost everything; her eyes were wide as saucers, their usual light accompanied by complete and utter devastation. Harry could not stand it. He jammed his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not asking you to say goodbye tonight, all right?"

Harry watched the great weight lift from her shoulders. "Harry - " she began, gratefully, happily, but Harry was not done.

"No, you hear me out, Ginny. At some point we're getting rid of that thing for good," Ginny's fingers unfurled, and she stared at the cracked ring, sitting there so innocently in her palm. "But not yet. Right now I'm going to give you the message, and you're going to tell the rest of the Order what we know. And then after that, you're going to share that ring with everyone else, so that they'll be able to talk to Dumbledore and me. All right?"

Ginny looked up at him.

"_All right?_"

She swallowed, breaking eye contact. Her gaze travelled downwards, wild red hair obscuring her face, so that Harry could not tell if she was staring at the floor or the Resurrection Stone. Then, after a moment that seemed like an eternity:

"I'll do it," Ginny's voice was barely a whisper. "I'll do it."

* * *

><p>The stunned silence shattered like a sheet of glass.<p>

"S-sorry - Ginny, _Harry_ - told you?" Hermione said shortly, but the disbelief in her tone was mingled with doubt. Her face expressed a mix of surprise and pity. "Ginny, Harry's - he's - "

Harry stood behind Ginny, an arm hovering just above her shoulder in the most comforting gesture he could offer her. "You can do it," He reassured her. "You've done great, Ginny, it's all right, you can tell them." but she rocked nervously on the balls of her feet. The words refused to come to her lips. Gently, Harry prodded her on. "Tell them about the stone, Ginny."

"He's dead," Ginny said hoarsely, as if she was still attempting to convince herself. "I know."

Hermione was floundering, still trying to make sense of the situation, to find a logical solution. "Mrs. Weasley," She whispered, so low that Harry almost could not hear, "I think she's not - I don't believe she's _aware _-"

Though she could not find the words to finish it, Hermione's message was clear: Ginny had finally cracked completely, somehow become even madder than she had been before; it was the only possible explanation Hermione could find. The occupants of the kitchen began to shift again, moving past shock; now they were pondering the best possible way to avoid what they believed would be an inevitable temper tantrum.

"Why - why don't we discuss this upstairs, Ginny, dear, see, there we go, right this way . . . " Mrs. Weasley's transparent smile did nothing to mask her true emotions; her arm once again grasped her daughter firmly and steered her up the stairs. Ginny, resilient ( Harry glowed with pride ), resisted with all her might.

"Mum - no, Harry said - "

"We can have a cup of tea and talk it all over, hm? Won't that be nice? Arthur, why don't you make Ginny here some nice chamomile - "

"No, mum - no!"

"Don't be - ridiculous - dear - " Mrs. Weasley grunted in between shoves.

"Ginny," Harry said urgently. "Ginny, they won't believe you unless they have proof. You have to show them the stone."

Her expression was terrible; she looked as if she was breaking. "But I can't, Harry, I _can't -_"

"Please, Ginny, they need to know."

"I can't tell them! They'll take you, they'll have you all t-to themselves and I'll be all alone again - and - and - " The tears finally burst forth, and Ginny stopped fighting, sobbing uncontrollably in her mother's arms.

"What is it, pumpkin?" Mrs. Weasley said, bemused, abandoning her attempts to muscle Ginny upstairs and folding her daughter into a tight embrace. "What - who were you - ?"

"Ginny, look at me." Harry said. Her bloodshot eyes found his. "You can do this."

Ginny merely stared at him, as if gathering her strength. For a moment that lasted eternity, they stood there, Harry begging her silently. Then:

"I found this, the night Harry - Harry died."

And she thrust it out in front of her for all to see; there, glittering in her palm, was the ancient ring on which Ginny relied so much.

Hermione rose from her chair slowly, as if in a dream. Harry knew she had never seen the ring before, but nevertheless he could tell that her intelligent mind was arriving at the correct conclusion. Harry could see the cogs turning in her brain as she approached Ginny, her eyes running the length of the ring's jagged crack.

"Ginny." Hermione said slowly. "Is this - "

"The Resurrection Stone." Ginny's whisper caught in her throat, and the tears came in great, racking sobs. Ginny's fist tightened around the ring as she withdrew it from sight, hugging it close to her body.

Ron got to his feet as well. "Wait," He said. "So that's - and she's been . . . it was real, this whole bloody time?"

Hermione looked as if she could not quite believe it. "It appears so."

"Blimey," was all Ron could manage. He sank back into his chair, thinking hard, as his frown evinced.

"The conversations with herself, that was . . . I don't believe it . . ." she trailed off, lost in thought. "Oh, it all makes _sense!_"

"You know, it would be boundlessly useful to the rest of us unenlightened here if one of you could please explain what the _fuck _is going on. Or, you know, don't mind us at all. Take your time. Perhaps we'll just sit here and grow ourselves some lovely beards while we're waiting." George said.

Harry was incredibly surprised that Ron managed to suppress his clear urge to throttle his brother.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley began. "How dare you use - "

"Molly, please, there are more pressing matters!" Mr. Weasley interrupted. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "As George so crudely put it, " - he flashed a glare at his son - "You two have some explaining to do."

"Well . . . it's called the Resurrection Stone." Hermione began nervously. "It was mentioned in this children's story, _The Tale of the Three Brothers. _Dumbledore left it to me in his will when he died; it's a story about - well, you've all read it before, haven't you? When you were small?" They nodded, and she continued, "Well, the story says that the Stone, along with two other magical objects, were conjured up by the figure of Death. Hence their name, when united: The Deathly Hallows. And according to the story, the Stone had the ability to bring back the dead."

"But that's - " Percy began.

"Impossible, we know." Hermione answered. "In the story, at least, they're sort of like ghosts in a way; not fully alive. Anyway, Ron and I both thought that the Hollows were just a few fictitious magical objects. Harry . . . Harry had his ideas about them. But we didn't believe him." Hermione looked at Ginny, whose sobs had subsided into silent tears. She clenched her jaw. "We were wrong, I guess." Now she approached Ginny apprehensively. "Ginny," Hermione said gently. Every eye in the kitchen was fixed on the two young women; now Ginny's quiet gasps were the only sound. "Have you been talking to Harry?"

At first Ginny seemed afraid to answer. Enveloped by her mother's arms, she snuggled deeper, as if she was safe within them. Then, her eyes streaming, and looking as if she would rather do anything than divulge this great, terrible secret, Ginny gave one slow, deliberate nod.

* * *

><p><strong>I worked crazy hard trying to get this all out before I leave on holiday tomorrow, so consider this a little gift for all you wonderful readers. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Love you all!<strong>


	10. What's Done is Done

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 10 | What's Done is Done**

* * *

><p>If Ginny had been protective of the Resurrection Stone prior to her confession of its existence, presently it might as well have been in a Gringotts Vault. It was several days before Ginny would come out of her room again; and when she did, she spent her time wrapped in a down comforter and jumping away whenever anyone attempted to approach her. Terrified that someone was going to take Harry away from her, Ginny spent a week working herself into such a state of hysterical paranoia that - following a climactic outburst - Mrs. Weasley finally snapped herself and informed Ginny that the Order needed to speak with Harry and Dumbledore <em>now.<em> It was in the midst of the tearful meltdown which resulted that Ron and Hermione were called apon by a weary-eyed Mr. Weasley to attempt to pry the Stone from Ginny's cold, dead fingers by use of a slightly friendlier approach.

A few days after this, when Ginny had spent long enough hiding away in her room, allowing Harry to calm her down, Ron and Hermione paid a visit to her stuffy bedroom. The windows were shut tight, blocking out the warm June breeze, and the shades were drawn so that a dull sense of gloom fell over the messy living space. Ginny was there, indistinguishable in the semidarkness at first, as she had squeezed herself into a corner between her dresser and bed. She was hunched in a ball, nearly crushed in the impossibly small space, looking serenely up at them as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ginny," Hermione said timidly. "Could you stand up a moment? Come out and talk to us?"

Ginny looked slightly puzzled, but obliged. Ron noticed how easily she was able to slide herself out of the confined space. She seemed like nothing more than an empty vessel; made of fragile bones and brittle skin, much less his little sister. When she got to her feet, Ginny did not speak, merely looking at them quizzically. She seemed so innocent like this, with her cloudy eyes wide and her head tilted ever so slightly to one side. But Ron had seen her break, and in quick succession over the past two weeks. He wondered how someone so childlike, so bloody _holy,_ could loose her grip on reality at a moment's notice.

"It's about Harry again, isn't it?" Ginny said finally. Ron could not detect any emotion in her tone. She could have been asking about the weather; the results of a Quidditch match.

Hermione paused before answering. "Well . . . yes."

Ginny frowned and sat down on her bed. "Of course it is. Nobody ever comes up here to play with me any more. They just want Harry's ring."

Hermione's eyes widened; she was nervous. "I'm - I'm sorry, Ginny, it's just that Harry's ring is very important right now."

"More important than me?"

"Well - well no, you see - " Hermione threw Ron a look and he mentally cursed himself; he should be helping her, not standing idly around. But he was at just as much of a loss as Hermione; unsure of what to do, Ron acted on the first idea that came to him, which was to kneel down in front of Ginny, take her hand, and rack his brains for the most encouraging words in his vocabulary. Bracing himself, Ron took a deep, calming breath.

"Ginny," He said. "Harry's already talked to you about this, didn't he?"

She nodded silently.

"He's here now, too?"

Ginny swallowed. Her eyes flicked away from Ron for a split second before returning; he followed her gaze, though all he could see was her battered wardrobe. Ron turned back to Ginny, who put her head down.

"Then he's told you how badly we need to talk to him."

Again Ginny nodded slowly, staring at the floor. Her eyes fell into shadows; it was impossible to tell what Ginny was feeling.

"Look at me, Ginny."

She did not move. Gently Ron reached forward and tilted her chin up; Ginny did not resist, but when her eyes met his, they were very red.

"I don't want to loose him." she whispered.

She began to cry. Immediately Ron pulled himself up from his knees, sitting on the bed next to Ginny. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she sobbed into his chest.

After several minutes, he finally spoke. "We're only borrowing it, Ginny, I swear. You can stay here and talk to him with us if you want. Would you like that?"

Tears spilling over onto her cheeks, Ginny neither answered nor loosened her grip on the Resurrection Stone. She made to dip her head again, but Ron held her gaze.

"You have to understand, Ginny," He smiled a little sadly. "We miss him, too."

After a long moment, Ginny's fingers slackened, and then finally dropped the ring into Ron's hand. He did not pause to examine it, or turn it in his hands; placing it on the bedside table, Ron encased Ginny in his arms as her body began to shake. He held her until her tears subsided, and she sat up at last, sniffling. Ron rubbed her back in small circles, until Ginny pulled herself together.

Ron suddenly realized that Hermione's eyes were wet with tears as well. He looked at her quizzically and she hastily wiped them with her sleeve, blushing a blotchy red.

"Why are _you_ - "

"Never you mind. Let's just get on with it."

Ron gave Hermione a sideways glance, but knew better than to pursue the matter further. Looking back at his sister, he picked up the ring and held it gingerly in his hand.

"Are you ready, Ginny?"

Ginny hesitated.

"I - I don't - " She looked confused, her teary eyes huge. Then she seemed to steel herself. "I'll go. You can talk to Harry alone."

"Are you sure?"

Ginny swallowed. "You have to give it right back. Promise?"

"Absolutely."

Ginny nodded. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but closed it, wrinkling her brow. Then she stood up from the bed, took a deep breath, and left the room. Ginny gave them one final glance as she closed the door, and

Ron reached behind him and grasped the ring. He held it in his palm for a moment, string at the symbol scratched into the cracked, black stone.

"It's Dumbledore's ring." Hermione said.

Ron looked up at her, then back to the ring, studying it. "Is it?"

"He wore it nearly all of our sixth year." Hermione said. "I only just remembered."

"Yeah . . . yeah, I thought it looked sort of familiar."

They were silent again for a moment; still Ron let the ring lay flat in his palm. How many times over the past year had he wished for his best friend's return? The desire had burned in his stomach like fire, inextinguishable; leaving wounds that would never heal. Now Ron held the means to meet this need in the palm of his hands, and yet he waited still.

Hermione reached out and took his hand, enclosing it in hers, though it was so much smaller than his own. She gave it a comforting squeeze. "Are you ready?" she asked quietly.

Ron did not answer, but looked down at the ring in his hand. The Resurrection Stone. So Harry had been right. Ron looked back up at Hermione, and in that moment it occurred to Ron just how much she had suffered in the past year. When she smiled at him, Ron felt it expressed a terrible sort of sadness.

"I'm ready." And he turned the Resurrection Stone three times in his hand.

Hermione gave a great gasp.

Ron had known what was going to happen the moment he touched the stone; he had accepted the fact that the Resurrection Stone was in fact functional. Yet it did not seem real until this moment. For the past year, he had been living with a hole in his chest; a gap once filled by Harry, which was now cold and empty. The pain of it was crippling at first, and would never truly gone away, but Ron had become used to this wound. He kept on going. Somehow, perhaps because Ron was so used to this constant ache, the notion that Harry might be able to return seemed impossible. Even as he held the stone in his hand, Ron was not prepared for that which he knew would happen. Now the proof stood right in front of him, shifting his weight in front of the wardrobe.

Ron wanted to say something; anything, but nothing came to mind. No words could properly express how he felt at that moment.

"Hi, Ron, Hermione," Harry said. "How have you been holding up?"

Hermione suddenly burst into tears and leapt up. She ran at Harry, but to her horror, her outstretched hands slid light through Harry's translucent body. For a moment Hermione stood there, shocked, and then she lowered her eyes and stumbled back. Ron was immediately at her side; he pulled her into a tight embrace, rubbing her back as she struggled to breathe. Over Hermione's shoulder, Ron met Harry's gaze.

"Hey, mate."

There were a million things Ron could have said, and all of them certainly would have done a better job of showing his emotions than 'Hey, mate.' Yet for some reason, it seemed to be all that was needed. He knew Harry understood completely what Ron was feeling, because he could tell Harry himself felt exactly the same way. Those two simple words somehow conveyed all that had to be said.

* * *

><p>"You'll want to Apparate a few hundred feet away, and use the tree cover to check for Death Eaters before you get to work. And Charlie, I'd rather you wore the heavier jacket, it's a bit better at deflecting spells . . . "<p>

Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, making a large fuss over Charlie, Dean, Luna, and her husband, who all stood by the door holding small vials of bubbling, mud-like potion.

"We'll be _fine,_ mum." said Charlie.

His mother, in response, began to readjust his collared shirt, her mouth a thin line. He rolled his eyes; she looked at him angrily.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, just be _careful_! Merlin knows what I would do if I lost any of you."

"Come on, don't get your knickers in a bunch. We've got enough Polyjuice to last us until next week."

"Well, you had better not take that long. The rest of the Order's coming at seven to plan with Dumbledore and Harry and I don't want any of you missing or worse!"

"Of course, mum, how rude it would be if they got themselves killed when they know perfectly well there are guests coming for dinner." George entered the room, grinning. He eyeballed each of them in turn, a comical impression of his mother at her worst; Luna giggled. "If I hear talk of any of you even _thinking _about - "

"George!" Mrs. Weasley cried, face red with anger. "This is a very serious matter and I will _not _have you - "

"All right, all right!" George said, holding up his arms in surrender. "I was only trying to keep them safe . . . "

Mrs. Weasley hit George on the arm as he left. "Now," Her eyes lingered on Dean, who stood silent and expressionless, and Luna saw a glint of worry in her kind eyes. "Are you all ready?"

Charlie, Dean, Luna, and Mr. Weasley all nodded.

"Bottoms up, then!" said Mr. Weasley, attempting to be cheerful, but none of them could quite mirror his enthusiasm. They gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; then, slowly, their appearances began to bubble and distort. Soon four strangers stood in the kitchen of the Burrow.

"Here are your things, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, ducking into the living room for a moment and returning with a pile of neatly laundered Muggle clothes. There was a small commotion as they tried to find their matches; Mr. Weasley attempted to don both Luna's sundress and Dean's sweater-vest at the same time, and ended up getting stuck with one arm through the neck hole. While the rest of them attempted to pry the vest off of him, Luna suddenly noticed that Dean hung back, pulling on his socks as if on autopilot.

"Are you all right, Dean?" She lowered her voice, so that no one else can hear. "I know it's hard."

He let out a long breath. "Yeah . . . yeah, I'm fine."

"Maybe it'd be best if you stayed here; let Mr. Weasley and Charlie and I go looking."

"I'm the one that asked to go. You're not heading into danger without me, if I'm the one that caused it in the first place."

"We don't know what we might find."

"I don't care if there are Death Eaters, I'll do whatever -"

"That's not quite what I meant." Luna's voice became soft and comforting. "Even if we do find Seamus . . . that fire will have disfigured him quite a bit. I'm not sure it will be a very nice thing to see."

Dean looked down and swallowed. For a moment he was silent, but as Luna reached out to put an arm on his shoulder, he met her gaze. "I can do this." Dean said, his eyes shining defiantly, and Luna did not doubt him for an instant.

"Here's your vest, Dean, and your dress, Luna," Mr. Weasley said, handing them their clothes, having managed to free himself from their clutches. He now stood, sporting a wrinkled tweed suit and cowboy boots, holding out their clothes. "Made with an wonderfully fascinating Muggle device called a _lom_. Ron tells me - "

"Arthur - "

"Right you are, Molly, time to get going! Outside, everyone, if you will."

The five of them walked across the lawn, Mrs. Weasley stopping a few feet before the magical protection ended, while Dean, Luna, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley continued on until they reached a point at which they could Apparate. Though she could no longer see anything but an empty field and a nearby orchard in the direction of the Burrow, Luna waved at what she believed was Mrs. Weasley, and assumed that she waved back as well. Then Mr. Weasley held out his arm, and the four clutched each other tightly. With a loud _crack_, they were gone.

After a horrible moment of crushing darkness, the tight space Luna had been stuffed into suddenly expanded. Instinctively she took a deep, stabilizing breath and inhaled a lungful of ash. She bent over, coughing; Charlie thumped her on the back.

"Oh - thank you -" Luna rasped, eyes streaming; she wiped at them with her hands and slowly her surroundings came into focus.

The only color Luna could see was gray. For a moment she thought something might be wrong with her eyes, but as Luna looked, she realized that this was not true. Gray was indeed the only shade that colored the little forest clearing in which they stood; from the branches of the trees, dead and decaying, to the charred grass, and the mound of ash and blackened wood that Luna knew to be the remains of Mallory Millay's cottage.

Dean was staring at the ruins with his face blank of emotion, jaw clenched, eyes searching the pile of ash. Mr. Weasley put a hand on his shoulder, and Dean gave a little smile that seemed more like a grimace.

"Ready, then?" Mr. Weasley asked him. Dean swallowed. Then he nodded, and the four started towards the destroyed cottage.

The cottage was small, but difficult to search. Only about half of the building was still standing; the rest was nothing more than burnt rubble, spread about the clearing by wind in such a way that much of it was almost unrecognizable. It was easier for Luna in this way; to believe that she was not searching the remains of a once happy home, but merely a pile of unfamiliar ash and wood. But every now and again she would uncover something - a shattered picture frame, or a scrap of fabric - that brought memories and feelings rushing back in staggering waves.

Luna stepped back and took a moment to breathe. "What's done is done." she muttered, eyes closed.

"What'd you say?"

Luna opened her eyes and found Dean standing before her.

"What's done is done. My mum used to say it when I was little. " Luna said. "Whenever something bad happened, and I was sad," She smiled at him. "She'd tell me to close my eyes, count to three, and say that. 'What's done is done.' I don't know exactly why . . . but everything seemed a bit better once I'd said it."

Dean was silent. He gave her a look that was hard to place: confused, as if he were considering her; but Luna had seen the very same expression many times before. It belonged, always, to those who didn't quite understand her; and of them, there were many. They tried to sort her out, place her in a category, label her; so that she was at least a bit less befuddling to them. Luna herself had always been in the opinion that she was a relatively simple person to comprehend, and never particularly understood the stares; yet the looks like the one Dean gave her still persisted.

When he did not respond, Luna spoke again. "It's very hard, of course, seeing this place destroyed after we've lived here for a year. Some very terrible things happened here, and it carries a lot of bad memories." But she smiled suddenly, tilting her head. "But it won't do us any good to be sad about them, will it?"

Dean stood very still for a moment, looking at her. Then he started suddenly, as if awakening from a daydream. He nodded, brow furrowed, eyes on the ground.

"I should keep looking." And then he was gone.

She watched him go, and then glanced around. Mr. Weasley and Charlie were on the other side of the house, digging under a mound of rubble that had once been a grandfather clock. Dean had hurried off to the edge of the ruin, kicking ashes up so that they rose into the air and settled like a dusty film over his skin. Luna realized she should be helping as well; and so she climbed over mounds of charred debris, approaching the fireplace through which they had made their escape a few weeks prior.

The chimney had collapsed, bricks cooked black by the flames. They lay like wounded solders, dying amidst a battlefield of ash. Luna began to sift through them with her feet, searching for any sign of a body. The cottage was tiny, though; if they had not found Seamus by now, the body was very likely to have been taken by the Death Eaters, or else destroyed in the terrible fire. She could tell, even from afar, that Mr. Weasley and Charlie were arriving at the same conclusion; but none of them, not even she, had the heart to tell Dean it was time to go home.

Frowning, Luna kicked aside more bricks with her feet. They were gray by now, coated in a layer of thick ash, exactly the same shade as everything else nearby. Even the sky had filled with iron-colored, clouds, like a film of sadness over everything. Luna wished bitterly for color. Not for her problems to be solved, as others might have: not the end of the war, or Voldemort's demise; but color. Brightness. Hope.

A flash of brilliant gold. Luna blinked.

It had happened in an instant, by the brief light of the sun peeking out of the clouds, but Luna was absolutely sure of what she saw. The bright and golden something glinted when she bent down to pick it up. It was a Galleon, Luna concluded, as she rubbed away the ash. She turned it in her fingers, examining her find, but stopped when something strange caught her eye. Words were engraved around the rim, so small they were almost indiscernible. Luna's eyes widened as she stared at the coin, which she suddenly realized was her own.


	11. Ashes

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 11 | Ashes **

* * *

><p>Dean could feel their eyes on him, but he could not stand to meet their gaze. They stared at him when they thought he was not looking; but Dean had been watching them out of the corners of his eyes ever since they had arrived. He saw the brief glances Charlie and Mr. Weasley gave each other as they worked, occurring more often as time wore on and their search continued to yield no results. They were more like silent conversations than mere looks - each of them conveying to the other the same message: they had been here for too long, and that it was time to give up. None of them, however, seemed to want to be the one to break it to Dean.<p>

Dean kept his head down, humoring them; pretending to be blissfully ignorant to their stares was a thousand times easier than facing them head-on. They let him continue on for a while longer, though they had obviously already searched every place that might hide a body. Dean was very glad for this. He had come here knowing full well that the likelihood of finding Seamus' body was slim at best; and yet here he was, unable to cease his search. Perhaps just the prospect of going and looking had drawn up some tiny, irrational hope in him - hope that Dean did not know he even had any more - that had lain dormant through these past few weeks of mourning.

Dean had always been a rational person. He knew that Seamus was dead, and had managed to accept it, however difficult. He never deluded his sub-conscious self, in his grief and pain, into believing that Seamus had somehow still alive. But the notion of finding a body . . . something to cling to, and cry over . . . well, it was something Dean wanted very much. He knew how small a chance there was of a body remaining beneath the piles of rubble. But Dean supposed he had let himself become carried away by improbable fantasy.

A hand suddenly rested on Dean's shoulder; gentle, tentative, but also firm and comforting. Dean looked up to see Mr. Weasley standing there. The Polyjuice Potion had worn off, but they had not bothered to replenish it; Mr. Weasley was very nearly back to himself. He had donned his glasses once more, slightly askew and coated with a thin layer of ash. The stuff was everywhere on him, settling in his wrinkles in a way that added several years to his visage. The somber expression in Mr. Weasley's eyes, which replaced their usual happy twinkle, only increased the effect.

"Dean," He began. The grip on Dean's shoulder tightened reassuringly, and the look in Mr. Weasley's eyes intensified into something so understanding and meaningful that Dean had trouble meeting their gaze.

Dean did not respond.

"I think it's time to go."

A burning sensation was beginning in the corners of Dean's eyes, one that had nothing to do with the ash in the air.

"It hasn't been - "

"He's not here, son."

Now the burning had spread to Dean's throat; that which had been threatening to overpower him since they arrived was about to burst forth. He wished they would look away.

Mr. Weasley pulled him into a hug, and without hesitation, Dean leaned into the man's embrace. He refused to let himself cry, even then; but it was a long while before Dean allowed Mr. Weasley to relinquish his hold.

When the two broke apart, Mr. Weasley took Dean by the shoulders. "It's going to be all right, Dean." he said.

Dean looked up at him. Mr. Weasley's eyes were as somber as ever, but twinkling again with a sort of bitter sweetness that Dean found hard to place.

"But I . . ." Dean said slowly. But he could not finish.

He wanted to say something, anything that would express the cacophony of emotions that were exploding in his stomach like a fireworks display. Yet of everything Dean was feeling - sadness, disappointment, fear - there was one that steadily rose above the others. Overwhelming gratitude for Mr. Weasley's kindness crashed over the rest like a great wave, growing and expanding until it filled him completely. Warm and glowing with this singular, all-encompassing feeling, Dean found himself pouring every last ounce of it into two simple words, which he uttered with as much feeling and sincerity as he possibly could.

"Thank you."

Mr. Weasley kept his hand on Dean's shoulder. He was very glad it was there.

"Why don't we grab Charlie and Luna and head - "

"Mr. Weasley!"

Dean could not prevent the irrational flutter of hope as he spun around to look; Luna's shout, high and startled, echoed across the clearing with a sort of alert finality that commanded the attention of all who heard it. But as he saw that Luna had uncovered no body, Dean's desperate smile flickered and died, transitioning smoothly into a frown once he realized how willingly he had rekindled the very feelings he had just worked so hard to repress. Dean turned instead to see her by the collapsed remains of the fireplace, standing stock-still and turned away from them, staring at a golden something she clutched tightly in her hand.

"Luna, what's the matter - " Mr. Weasley began, closing the distance between himself and Luna in a few short strides. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to silence him. Luna's protuberant eyes were even wider than normal, light eyebrows vanishing beneath her hair, lips parted in what might have been surprise or disbelief.

"Look." Luna said. She held out the object in her hand; a Galleon. "Look at what it says."

"I don't know what this is all . . . all . . . " Mr. Weasley bent in to look as he spoke; he trailed off. His eyes shifted from the coin to Luna, suddenly serious. They searched for an explanation.

"We used them in school," said Luna breathlessly. "Fake Galleons, in my fifth year; for planning Dumbledore's Army meetings without letting that foul Umbridge woman what we were up to. Hermione enchanted them so that we could change the words on the edges if we needed to, for messages - I carried mine around with me for years, just for no reason at all - fond memories I suppose - but I must have dropped it while we were fighting here -"

"Luna, are you telling me - "

"Yes." Luna said finitely. "Absolutely."

Dean took the Galleon from Luna and held it up to his eye. In the years since he had forgotten all about the fake coins Hermione had enchanted for their secret meetings, so long ago. But sure enough, engraved there in the metal, as clear as day: _Luna. I am alive and held within Hogwarts. Please, please answer. Neville._

Dean met Luna's gaze with mirrored urgency. "Can you send him a message back?"

"Of course." Luna said. Dean handed her the Galleon and she pulled out her wand, but hesitated. "What should I tell him?"

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to answer, but the words never left his lips: Charlie's Muggle stopwatch suddenly gave a loud beep.

"It's seven. Order's probably arriving at home right now." He said, glancing at the watch face.

"Then we can Apparate back there and ask them all what they think." Mr. Weasley offered.

Dean, Luna, and Charlie all nodded in agreement. Mr. Weasley held out his hand, and they grasped it. A moment later, they were flying through darkness. The feeling was all sorts of unpleasant, but Dean felt a strange sensation deep in his chest that had nothing to do with the Apparition. It took him a moment to realize that it was hope.

With a shuddering jerk, Dean's feet hit solid ground. They stood in an almost unrecognizable field; Dean could hardly tell where they were without the familiar sight of the Burrow to mark the landscape.

"Home should be that way, everyone." Mr. Weasley said, indicating a nondescript area of field just the same as the rest. But sure enough, once they walked a few yards, the silhouette of the tilting house materialized against the setting sun. The windows glowed warm and bright; within them, Dean could see a number of figures moving about on the ground floor. Mrs. Weasley stood out among them, her chair pulled up to the panes of glass, looking anxious. Dean watched her expression change as she recognized them; then she vanished from view, bursting out the door only a moment later.

"Arthur!" She cried, running at them and wrapping her arms around her husband, who stroked her hair rather bemusedly. "Oh, I was so _worried_ - "

"We aren't even that late, mum." Charlie said.

"When I said be home at seven, I meant be home at seven, not seven-ten!"

"Molly . . . "

"Oh, but all the same," Mrs. Weasley released her husband and looked at them all. "Did you . . . ?"

No one answered her. Dean did not see her face crumple; his eyes were on the ground.

Mrs. Weasley swallowed. "Well . . . that's that, then." she said. The prolonged silence that followed told Dean that she was looking at him. He forced himself to meet her gaze, and her eyes were full of a sort of motherly kindness that was much more comforting than the pity he was expecting to see there. "Are you all right, Dean, dear?" she asked.

He managed to smile at her. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled a little sadly, patted him on the shoulder, and then addressed them all. "Right, well, come on, then, let's get you all inside. I'm afraid we've already finished dinner, but I left a few plates out for you lot if you're hungry . . . "

"Let's hurry. I want to tell Dumbledore immediately." Mr. Weasley said as they walked.

"Tell Dumbledore what?"

"We found something at Mal's place." said Luna. "We're not entirely sure, but it might just be our ticket inside Hogwarts."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened. "What - but - "

"We'll explain everything in full once everyone can hear, Molly, I promise." Mr. Weasley said reassuringly. "They'll want to see this."

Brow furrowed, Mrs. Weasley pulled open the door and they entered the Burrow. Much like the day they had interrogated Malfoy, the kitchen was crowded with the faces of friends and strangers. Ron and Hermione were both smiling at Ginny, who clutched the Resurrection Stone and stared at the floor; Percy, Bill, and Fleur stood talking quietly in a corner; Neville's grandmother was telling Kingsley a lengthy story; and Andromeda Tonks and Hannah Abbot played with a gurgling Teddy. As the five entered, the voices quieted somewhat.

"Good, Arthur, you're here." Kingsley said. "Dumbledore insisted that we wait."

"Sorry for the delay." Mr. Weasley said. "But we've brought news, and potentially very important news, at that. Harry and Dumbledore are here, you said?"

With a glance at Ginny, Kingsley nodded. "What did you find out, Arthur?"

"I think Luna might be able to explain a little better than I can." He said, allowing Luna to step forward and address the small crowd. She showed them the coin and explained how the DA had once used them; then she read out the message.

"He's alive?" Hannah squeaked. Dean noticed her eyes were very red. "Neville's alive?"

The cramped kitchen filled with muttering once again.

"We're not positive." Luna answered her. "Everyone who was in the DA had one of these fake Galleons at one point. Those were all people we could trust, but this was also four years ago that they were handed out. You probably don't still have yours, do you, Hannah?"

Jaw set, Hannah shook her head.

"So we can't be sure if one of these coins has fallen into the wrong hands." Kingsley said.

"Exactly."

"Can't we send him a message back, though?" Hannah pleaded. "To be sure it's him?"

"That's what we were going to do," said Mr. Weasley, "But we wanted to know what the rest of you thought first."

"Well, by all means, do it!" Mrs. Longbottom cried. "This is my grandson we're talking about. If he's alive and inside Hogwarts, I want to know!" She looked around at the rest of them, as if daring them to disagree with her.

"It's worth a shot." said a man with a deep voice. "I mean, what else do we have to go on?"

Bill raised an eyebrow and let out a puff of air. "Warren makes an excellent point. We have no other leads, and nothing to loose."

"And everything to gain." Percy added. "We'd actually have a chance at getting inside of Hogwarts if we had a man on the inside."

"We don't exactly want to share our plans with a Death Eater, though, do we?" Hermione said.

"What do Dumbledore and Harry think, Ginny?" Mr. Weasley said kindly, turning to her.

Ginny's eyes flicked back and forth between two spaces of unoccupied air. Then: "Professor Dumbledore says to ask him a question only he would know, to make sure it's him."

"What question should we give him?" Andromeda said. There was silence for a moment.

"Ask him about the time he set his pants on fire, in our first year." Dean said.

Ron snorted loudly. "Oh, Merlin, I'd forgotten that . . . go on and ask him, he'll definitely remember."

"Ron . . ." Hermione said disapprovingly.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to turn that into a question." Luna said.

"Right . . . er, sorry." Dean frowned. "Ask for the name of his favorite book from when he was young."

"_Medicinal Herbs for the Modern Magician._" said Ron ruefully. "He used to read it to us every night, d'you remember how annoying that was?"

"Ron!" Hermione scowled.

"All right, I'm sorry, that was very rude of me!" Ron said defensively. Dean sniggered; Ron glared at him.

"Favorite book it is, then." Luna said. She pulled out her wand and waved it over the Galleon; it glowed warm for a moment, and then the shimmer of heat receded and it was nothing more than cold metal once more.

There was silence throughout the kitchen. Luna stared at the coin in her hand as if she was silently willing it to change, and in turn, the others stared at watched her. Then, a full minute later, the heat began to roll off the Galleon in waves. Several people surged forward to look, so that Luna had to hold up her hands and cry, "Wait, wait!" in order to get some space. They stepped back, and her gaze returned to the Galleon, the symbols around the edge still changing. Then, all at once, the glimmer faded. Luna's eyes closed and she let out a great breath.

"It's him."

Chaos broke out for a moment: people talked and laughed and hugged one another; Hannah burst into tears. Dean did not partake in the momentary celebration - instead he approached Luna and examined the coin in her hand. _Medicinal Herbs for the Modern Magician. Merlin, Luna! I've been trying to contact you for ages and that's what you say?_, read the tiny letters. Dean met Luna's eyes and grinned.

Suddenly Ginny spoke, standing on her tiptoes and calling loudly over the din. "Harry says to ask if there's any way we can infiltrate Hogwarts."

The congregation fell silent immediately.

"Go ahead, Luna, dear," Mrs. Weasley prodded gently, and Luna snapped out of a daze.

Only a moment after the Galleon grew cold again, it glowed with heat once more. "The security's been increased tenfold." Luna called out to everyone. "Neville's being held in the North tower, so he can't be sure of anything specific . . . " Just as she finished her message, the Galleon heated again, its message changing. " . . . But he knows most of the changes were made to the schools wards. The Carrows put them up; it's pretty much impossible to get through them from the outside."

A heavy silence filled the kitchen. No one seemed to know what to say; the impossible odds that were stacked up against them had crushed the happiness of a moment before as if it had never been.

"From ze outside." Fleur's voice wavered. "But we 'ave a man on ze inside."

Luna was waving her wand again. Dean leaned closer to see the words she was working into the Galleon's surface: _Are you sure there's nothing you can do to break us in?_

Another long moment later, the Galleon burned hot with Neville's returning message.

_There is one thing I can try._

Luna relayed the message to the rest of the Order, and once more they perked up excitedly; but before any of them could respond, the message changed again.

_It'll have to wait until I can get out of this damned cell, though, and I'm not sure we have the time._

Dean barely had time to read the words before they melted away once more.

_You-Know Who's planning something,_ the coin now read. _I dunno what, but it doesn't sound like we'll be able to do much to stop him once he's through with it._

This time Luna managed to send a reply before Neville cut her off: _Neville, he's got some sort of a potion that can make him immortal. We've got to get in there before it's ready._

This time Neville's reply took much longer than the previous ones. Dean realized he was holding his breath; with a puff, he released it, just as the Galleon heated again.

_I'm going to have to take down the Carrows if you want to get those wards down. I'll need a wand, though, and I don't see how I_

Here Neville's message ended abruptly. Luna blinked in surprise. "Do you think something's happened - " But no sooner than the words left her lips did the Galleon warm in her hand. Neville's words came in several sections, too long to fit around the rim of the coin.

_I have a plan. It can't happen immediately, but I think I can get a wand and get out of here. _

_I'll send you a message as soon as I'm out. You'll have to keep on your toes, though -_

_I'm not sure when it'll happen, and if anything, I could use more time to plan._

Luna wrote back a hasty reply: _Fill us in. The whole Order's here with me; we'll assist you in any way we can._

_Great. I'm going to need all the help I can get . . ._


	12. The Heart of the Brave

As word of the Resurrection Stone and Luna's Galleon spread throughout the Order, the Burrow soon took up the mantle of a central hub for its members to plan. A large chunk of resistance movement arrived on the Weasley's doorstep on a nightly basis, ready for a session with Dumbledore, Harry, and Neville. Since the Burrow's cramped kitchen would have been stretched to the breaking point at their arrival, meetings were moved into the back garden, where Order members discussed infiltration tactics and attack formations by the light of a dying June sun.

Hermione was present at all of these meetings, of course. She knew that it would be foolish of her not to try and help the Order in any way she could . . . and yet at the same time, Hermione also could not pretend that she was growing increasingly unnerved by them. There was just something about the prospect of the looming battle that made her heart pound and her palms sweat. She went to great lengths to hide her discomfort from the other Order members, lest she worry them, or worse - make herself appear cowardly. On one such evening, as the Order dispersed from the Burrow's back lawn, Hermione hurried quickly towards the back door, hoping to avoid a conversation with any of them. But just as she allowed herself to believe that she was in the clear, Ron caught up to her as she started towards the house. It only took him one look to know that something was wrong.

"Merlin, Hermione, the Grey Lady has a better tan than you do." He said. "What is it?"

"Just because I'm pale doesn't mean you can tease me about it, Ron." Hermione lied transparently, desperately. "Sunbathing is terrible for your skin, anyway. I'd much prefer - "

"I can tell when you're lying to me, you know." He said quietly, cutting her off.

Hermione set her jaw. She changed directions; now they were headed around the other side of the Burrow, where they could have a bit of peace and quiet. When they had reached solitude under the shade of the orchard trees, Hermione turned to Ron. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but to her dismay, the right words simply would not roll off her tongue.

"Hermione, if it's about the ink I spilled on your copy of _Numerology and Grammatica _this morning, I've already apologized for accidentally siphoning off the words too - "

"No, no, I'm not angry with you."

"Well, what are you, then?"

Hermione's lips traced the words several times before she could finally get them out of her mouth.

"I'm - I'm scared, Ron."

"You're always worrying about something." Ron answered. "Homework, exam results . . ."

"The possible end of the world?" Hermione finished in a shrill voice. "It's perfectly natural for me to be just a _bit _nervous about it!"

"Exactly. We're about to take on bleeding You-Know-Who here." Ron took her hands and looked into her eyes. "_All_ of us are scared."

Hermione smiled wryly, swinging his arms listlessly. "It's just that the plan relies so heavily on _us_ - us! And I just - what if I mess up, what if _I'm _the one to ruin it? What if he's sitting there at Hogwarts, waiting for us to walk into his trap? What if - "

Ron kissed her. She had not been expecting it; he caught her off guard, and for a moment she stood still, surprised. But the kiss was sudden and passionate, stopping her words as they tumbled, unmitigated, out of her mouth. The waves of pleasure flowed over her, immediately intoxicating her completely; Hermione responded to his ferocity with mirrored enthusiasm. She could feel every stich of Ron's homemade sweater pressing against her skin as he pulled her close to his body, locking them in a tight embrace. When they finally broke apart, some time later, they stayed wrapped around one another with just inches between them. Hermione looked up at Ron and found herself a great deal calmer than she had been before.

"Better?" he murmured.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. "I should have expected that." She said. "You were never one for chats about feelings."

"No, that was always sort of your area of expertise." Ron grinned. "If you have any questions about Quidditch, though, I'd be happy to answer them."

Hermione laughed and leaned into Ron, resting her head on his chest. His breath tickled her neck, one of his hands running slowly through her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation, and for a moment there was contented silence between them. At each gentle brush of Ron's fingertips, Hermione felt a bolt of invisible lightning pierce her skin, raising the hair on the back of her neck and making her shiver. The electric feeling steadily grew as they held each other, increasing until, at its climax, Hermione was left with a curious sensation. It felt like some sort of sensory overload; as if she had been stimulated so much that she just couldn't feel any more. It was both unnerving and invigorating, and yet Hermione would give anything for the feeling to last.

"I love you."

Hermione's eyes opened quickly. She looked up at Ron, lips parted in surprise. There was a flush in his cheeks that was perhaps a bit brighter than normal, but other than that he seemed as calm and collected as if he had just commented on the weather. He met her gaze with steadfast certainty.

Hermione had looked into those same eyes more times than she could count. It had been a secret of hers when she was just a girl, but she had always found them to be completely enthralling. Even during those confusing years when their friendship had not yet blossomed into something more, Hermione caught herself staring into them more times than she would have liked to admit. But as time went on, she only found herself drawn to them at an increasing rate. She couldn't help it; those deep brown eyes never failed to capture her attention.

Years passed, and Ron began to change from a boy to a man. And yet even in light of all the terrible events that had marked his rather abnormal childhood, and everything that had happened since Voldemort's return and Harry's death, even with the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders . . . Ron's eyes still held the same warmth and light they always had. Though now he appeared much older than he was, his features aged by the worry of war, Ron's eyes still matched those of the grubby little schoolboy who had grown up alongside her. Who had stood by her side through years of hardship and struggle. Whom Hermione was so fiercely proud to call her most trusted companion. Her closest friend.

Her love.

When she kissed him, it was like nothing she had ever felt before. His lips were fire, igniting something deep within her, something that she had never known existed. Now fierce passion consumed Hermione, and she gripped Ron tighter still, glorying in the sensation, thinking that if it intensified, she might just go mad -

The kiss softened, slowed. The animalistic ferocity that had possessed Hermione a moment before lessened, and she blushed, embarrassed to have let her body rule over her mind if only for a moment. Instead it was replaced with a dull hum of energy, which she could feel most intensely where Ron's arms encircled her, and where his fingertips brushed over the exposed small of her back. She could stay here forever, wanting for nothing else but this wonderful feeling of the one she loved against her. Hermione closed her eyes. This, she thought, was bliss.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>Luna looked down at the Resurrection Stone in her hand, tracing the jagged crack in its black gem with her finger. "I'm going to talk to her." She said, looking up. "Ginny."<p>

Harry's translucent image stood before her, shifting his weight on the floor of the Burrow's living room. He raised his eyebrows as she spoke.

"About . . . ?"

"You."

"Me."

"Yes. But I thought it might be a good idea to ask you first."

He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive."

"She's not going to listen."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

Harry blinked, then continued on. "I don't know, Luna. I'm just afraid she'll . . . well, you know what she's like. She's . . . " Harry trailed off, gritting his teeth, but he forced himself to finish his sentence: "She's mad."

"I do." Luna said calmly. "And I think it's about time she got better."

For a long moment, Harry was silent. He licked his lips, opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. "Of course you can talk to her, Luna." Harry finally said. "You didn't even have to ask."

She smiled at him. "I'll leave this here, then."

Harry nodded once, but remained silent. Luna's hand hovered over the coffee table for a split second, and then she let the ring sit gently onto the notched wood. The moment the Resurrection Stone slipped through her fingers, Harry's body flickered and vanished. With one last contemplative glance at the fractured stone, Luna turned in a whirl of curly blonde hair and headed up the stairs.

Ginny was in her room, predictably, though at the request of her mother the door had been left ajar. The window was thrown open, and Ginny hung out of it, a summery breeze catching her gnarled hair.

"What are you doing, Ginny?" Luna asked, when her entrance did not elicit a response from the girl.

"I tried to brush my hair," Ginny answered, pointing at her bed without moving her head. Lying on the linen was an ancient comb, which was missing several teeth and wrapped with a number of knotted ginger strands. "It didn't work. So the wind will blow it straight."

Luna smiled. "I'm afraid the wind's not going to do very much for you." She crossed the room and picked up the weathered comb, then approached Ginny. "Will you let me? I promise not to hurt you."

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then nodded and relaxed back into the window seat she was kneeling on. Luna sat behind her and attempted to work out the knots as gently as she could; a difficult task, considering Ginny's hair was no longer anything more than a mass of wild snarls. She - and her mother, for that matter - had evidently given up long ago.

"Have you been through a hurricane recently, Ginny?" Luna half-smiled, half-grimaced; the comb did next to nothing to untangle Ginny's hair.

The question momentarily distracted Ginny from her discomfort. "What?" She grunted.

"Your hair's messier than a doxy nest. It must have taken a lot of wind to make it so knotty."

Ginny grinned. "No . . . I just don't like brushing."

"Well, I can see why!"

Ginny giggled. There was silence for a moment, and then Luna spoke again.

"Don't you ever get lonely up here?" She asked.

"A bit." Ginny said thoughtfully. "It was worse before, though."

"Before you started visiting us every now and again?"

"Yes." Ginny answered. She paused. Then: "I feel better now."

"That's good."

"I didn't think it would be fun," she went on, "Going outside, I mean. But Harry was right. It . . . it makes me happy."

"That's wonderful, Ginny. I'm very proud of you." Luna said. "You still like to spend an awful lot of time up here, though, don't you?"

Ginny sucked in a big breath. Luna felt her tense slightly; she could almost see the girl's eyes widen with irrational fear. "Just because it's nice doesn't mean it's not scary." Ginny said softly.

"It can be a good thing to face your fears every once in a while." Luna said calmly. "There are people who spend their whole lives being so afraid that they don't even try to conquer their fear. And you know what? They'll never know if they could have or not, because they never took the chance."

Ginny was very still. Her head turned slightly to the side, brows furrowed, trying to catch a glimpse of Luna out of the corner of her eye. But Luna remained as calm and serene as ever; done with one section of Ginny's hair, she smoothed it out and started work on another cluster of large knots. As she worked, she spoke gently again, knowing that Ginny was thinking hard.

"But you're a Gryffindor, aren't you? The house of the proud, and the strong, and the brave. You've proven countless times that you can be just as fierce as a lion. Don't you remember the Ministry when we were fifteen? And the Astronomy Tower, the night Dumbledore died? And the Battle. Last year, when you fought so hard and so well that you held your own against Bellatrix Lestrange for a full half hour until Neville and I showed up. I've seen you do things that I'd never dare attempt, and watched you succeed. I've seen you defy the odds time and time again. I've seen you look You-Know-Who straight in the eye and stand right up against him." Luna said. She leaned to the side, so that she and Ginny could make eye contact. "You are a fighter, Ginny Weasley. You are not afraid. You just think you are."

Ginny's mouth opened and closed several times, almost as round and wide as her glassy eyes, which stared at Luna with a wide, strange variety of emotions that Luna had trouble picking out. Was it anger that Luna saw, or perhaps understanding, surprise, or confusion? She could not tell, for after a long moment, a blotchy red flush crept up Ginny's neck and she swiveled around again. Luna took this as her cue to keep brushing.

After a lengthy silence, Ginny swallowed hard and spoke quietly. "That stuff was a long time ago."

"Oh, but this sort of thing never really goes away." Luna responded. "Didn't you know that? An elephant never forgets, right?"

Ginny's smile flickered on, halfhearted and nervous. "I'm not an elephant." she muttered.

"No," Luna said, putting down her brush and smoothing Ginny's now-sleek hair with her fingers. "You're a valiant, heroic girl and a wonderful friend. And I know what's happening right now is very hard and very scary, but I still believe in you. I always will."

Ginny's smile sagged and faded. It was replaced by another odd expression that again Luna found hard to place; Ginny's face registered some strange emotion between curiosity and fear. Neither seemed to win over the other as she continued to meet Luna's gaze, silently and stoically, unblinking. Then a little crease appeared between her brows, and after a moment she blinked and looked away. Ginny turned so that her head was facing down, and said no more for a long time. Though the thin sheets of red hair that fell over Ginny's face as she remained stock-still, Luna could see her eminent frown, and she knew that the girl was thinking, and hard. On what, Luna could not say for sure.

When, after several minutes, Ginny looked up and brushed the hair out of her eyes, Luna saw that her eyes were very red, though she did not appear to have been crying.

"I don't understand." She said.

Luna swallowed. She hadn't wanted to get her hopes up, but nevertheless, Luna's heart sank at Ginny's words.

"What I meant," Luna began, "Was that you can do this. It's all in your - " Before she could finish her sentence, Ginny cut across her, looking even more confused than ever, but also, curiously, upset.

"No, no, _no._" Ginny said, color rising to her face. "Why are you saying these things?"

Ginny was breathing very quickly, eyes bulging. Luna chose her next words carefully, for fear of causing her sudden and unexplainable burst of anger to grow.

"Because they're true."

"No, they're not!"

"Of course they are, Ginny. You just need to have confidence in yourself."

"How can I? Everything - everything's so _hard._"

"You can get through it. We're going to stop Voldemort. We're going to avenge Harry. Everyone - your family, the Order, me - we're all behind you. We're going to help you."

Ginny squirmed uncomfortably. "I . . . I can't."

"You've been so strong already, Ginny." Luna said softly. "If anything, you deserve - "

"BUT I _DON'T_!" Ginny roared, and her defense shattered like glass: this was Ginny as Luna had never seen her before, or at least not in a long while; raw and unguarded, completely vulnerable. In an instant she was screaming with absolute rage. "I DON'T - DESERVE - A DAMN - _THING_! NOT A THOUGHT, NOT A WORD, AND CERTAINLY NOT YOUR FUCKING PRAISE!"

She leapt off the window seat, eyes alight. Luna instinctively shrank back, caught off guard by Ginny's sudden ferocity, but the girl seemed not to notice Luna. Instead she turned and stomped about her room at a frantic pace. All semblance of normalcy gone, Ginny had succumbed to the deepest recesses of madness. She kicked at her dresser to vent her anger, toppling it to the ground, but even with her bare feet, she seemed to feel no pain. Luna wondered if it was adrenaline coursing through her veins, or the beginnings of Ginny's uncontrollable bouts of magic.

"HARRY _DIED_, AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DID? _NOTHING_!" Ginny shouted, though it seemed more to herself than to Luna. "I FOUND HIS RING, AND WHAT DID I DO? _NOTHING_!" - Ginny overturned her bedside table, sending her belongings flying - "I COULD HAVE TALKED TO DUMBLEDORE, AND WHAT DID I DO?" - she picked up a vase and hurled it across the room, smashing it against a wall - _"NOTHING! _I HAD THE RING FOR A WHOLE GODDAMN YEAR! I COULD HAVE GIVEN IT TO YOU! I COULD HAVE ENDED THIS AGES AGO, AND I - DID - _NOTHING!" _

Ginny seized the bedside table once more and swung it at the floor; with an almighty crash, the legs gave way. Left with no more furniture to demolish, Ginny stood in a momentary lull, chest heaving. Then her eye caught the mirror hanging askew on the opposite wall. As if in a trance, Ginny shuffled through piles of broken china and splintered wood. When she reached the mirror, she stared at herself as if there was a stranger in the glass.

"Don't you understand?" She said, in a threateningly quiet voice. "Don't you know how much it hurts me when you say those things? I'm not _strong. _I'm not _brave._" Ginny spat. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted one hand. Her fingers shook as she touched the cold glass, looking on at her reflection with wide and fearful eyes. She stared into the mirror for a moment that seemed like eternity, and then her fingers began to slide down on the glass. For a fraction of a second Luna believed that the danger had passed, but soon she saw that something was not quite right with Ginny's gaze. Before she could act, Ginny struck.

"I AM WEAK!"

Ginny's fist pounded the glass with staggering force as she roared, and the mirror shattered into a thousand different pieces. But instead of fragmenting and clattering to the ground, the shards shot through the air like a thousand silver daggers, as objects and debris from all over the room freed themselves from gravity's clutches and flung themselves in every direction. They shattered picture frames and dented walls, causing complete and utter chaos. The room became a whirlwind of flying objects; Luna found herself taking shelter behind a shield charm, watching Ginny's bedroom tear itself apart. And Ginny herself stood tall, miraculously still unharmed, screaming in all her renewed fury and rage.

"I CAN'T FIGHT! I CAN'T HELP! I CAN'T EVEN LEAVE THIS GOD - DAMNED - ROOM!" Ginny shrieked. "AND NOW HARRY'S LEAVING, AND I JUST _CAN'T - FUCKING - TAKE - IT_!" She seized handfuls of her own hair, twisting her fingers around and around until the ginger locks were a snarled mess once more. She seemed to chew on her words for a moment, her anger making it difficult for her to limit herself. Then, her eyes wide and deranged, she shouted her loudest yet, her voice reaching a desperate pitch. "I'M MAD!" She said as if she could not help it, the words finally tearing from her lips. "I'M MAD, I'M MAD, I'M MAD! _MAD! _FUCKING -_ MAD - "_

Ginny's voice reached a peak; it cracked, and all at once, the flying objects dropped where they were. The unbearable noise stopped, and save for Ginny's labored breathing, a ringing silence filled the room. Around Ginny, furniture lay in pieces; dents dotted the walls; smashed objects and shards of broken glass littered the floor. The window had shattered, the seat below it oozing feathers like blood.

And Ginny sat in the center of it all, completely unscathed. Her eyes grew wider still, but this time, they did not bulge with anger; but with fear. She looked around the room as if she did not quite know what had happened, drew her arms in to herself, and took a shaky breath. Her eyes met Luna's as she spoke, and in an instant she was scared and innocent and childlike again.

"I'm . . . I'm sick," Ginny admitted, mortified. "And I want to get better."

For a moment, Luna and Ginny stared at one another. Then, thundering footsteps pounded up the stairs, and the door burst open with a deafening bang. Mr. Weasley entered first, eyes scanning the room for an assailant, wand aloft. When he found no Death Eaters hiding in the corners, he lowered his arm, though he still stared in disbelief at the utter destruction that lay before him. "Ginny - Luna - what ?"

Before he could finish, Mrs. Weasley pushed past, followed a millisecond later by Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron. All seemed prepared for a battle ( and Luna couldn't blame them, after the deafening noise they must have heard ) but they too stopped when the scene met their eyes.

Ginny burst into tears and dropped to her knees, cutting off any questions they may have been about to ask.

"Ginny - Ginny, dear, just - just calm down, now - " Mrs. Weasley said, utterly bewildered, as she moved to comfort her child. "Just tell mummy, what happened . . . it's all going to be fine . . . "

"No, it won't be fine!" Ginny sobbed. "I'm not fine!"

"Molly, why don't you take Ginny downstairs for a cup of tea." said Mr. Weasley, eyes swiveling from Ginny to wreckage she caused. As he spoke, they settled on Luna. "We don't want to get her excited again. Luna can tell us how this . . . tell us what happened."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and swallowed. "All right, now, dear, let's go downstairs . . . " She cooed, and Ginny, hiccupping, allowed her mother to lift her up off of the ground and lead her out of the room and downstairs.

The moment the door shut, George rounded on Luna.

"What _was_ that? I thought we were being attacked!"

"I came to talk to her." Luna said, quite calmly.

"And _this - _" George stretched out his arms, indicating the mess. " - is what happened? The hell did you say?"

"I had Harry's permission." said Luna, again, acting as though Ginny's tantrum had been nothing more than a civil argument.

"Answer the question, Luna." Mr. Weasley said quietly.

Luna glanced at him for a moment, then began. "I told her she was brave. I said I believed she could get better, and . . . she didn't agree with me." She looked around, then turned back to Mr. Weasley. "I'm sorry about her bedroom, Mr. Weasley. I can repair them."

The seven of them raised their wands, and with mutters of, "_Reparo!_" the smashed and displaced objects began to zoom around the room once more. In contrast to the violent frenzy of their last flight, the objects floated about at a leisurely pace, settling gently in their original positions, whole and unbroken once again.

When the last few splinters of wood finished reattaching themselves to Ginny's bedside table, Mr. Weasley spoke. "And so she threw a fit."

"Yes." Luna answered.

"You should never have come up here." Ron growled, but Mr. Weasley flashed him a warning look and he fell silent.

"It was different this time, though." said Luna. "Before, whenever she was angry, she'd always be close to hallucinating, and yet she always insisted she was perfectly all right. It does sound quite strange, yes, but today I think she was in the right mind."

"In the right mind?" Bill repeated. "She smashed everything in here to pieces!"

"Did you hear anything Ginny was screaming, though?" Luna asked. "She was faulting herself. Have you noticed, she's never admitted that she's been sick? Not once. But today she said it herself - 'I'm mad.' True, she did loose control . . . but she knew exactly what she was doing. I could see it in her eyes."

A ringing silence filled the room for a moment, while Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron digested this information. Then Percy spoke quietly:

"So what you are saying . . . is that this outburst means she's getting better?"

Luna opened her mouth to answer, her head raised in the beginning of a nod, but no coherent words left her lips. Instead, she yelped suddenly. The others jumped, startled at the noise.

"The bloody hell - ?" exclaimed Ron.

Luna thrust a hand as quickly as she could into her jeans pocket. She clutched the fake Galleon, glowing with intense heat, in her first for an instant; and then Luna quickly dropped it, clutching her burned fingers with a grimace.

"I've never seen it become this hot before." Luna tilted her head, eying the circle of gold as it glinted brightly on the floor. "Not once. When we were in the DA, we were only supposed to make it burn like that if there was something really, really important we wanted . . . wanted to . . . "

Luna trailed off, her protuberant eyes widening even more as she stared at the Galleon. The heat was starting to fade, and a tiny message had become clear around the rim of the coin. She picked it up, now only slightly warm, and read the minute words several times over before looking up at the others. They stared back at her, anxious, and no one dared to speak.

"Neville's managed to get out." Luna said in a cracked voice. "But the potion's ready. We've got to attack. Now."


	13. A Demon Beneath the Cherry Tree

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 13 | A Demon Beneath the Cherry Tree**

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><p>He stood in a gorgeous meadow, dotted with wildflowers as far as the eye could see. A large cherry tree cast dappled shade over a vast expanse. Twittering songbirds flitted between its branches, and butterflies drifted lazily over the pink blossoms. He could hear a stream splashing in the distance, somewhere out of sight.<p>

He did not trouble himself to wonder why he was there. It was quite a nice place to be, really; for now, why would he want to leave, anyway? He thought perhaps the heady perfume the wildflowers gave off had something to do with his inability to string together coherent thoughts, but he did not let it bother him. It was nice just to relax.

He smiled and looked up at the sky. It was very blue.

"It's your turn, Neville."

Neville turned at the sound of the man's voice. In the space of time his back he turned away from the cherry tree, Professor Lupin had appeared beneath its boughs, his robes a bit shabby and his hair speckled with gray, but otherwise much younger and happier than he had been in recent years. A wardrobe stood beside Neville's childhood teacher, the doorknob rattling slightly.

"Hurry up already. I want to try, too." said a voice.

Neville swiveled around again and found a queue of children standing where there had been previously been empty space, fidgeting in their Hogwarts uniforms and tapping their wands impatiently. They were his old classmates, Neville realized with a dull shock, but as they had appeared in their third year. He looked down at his own Gryffindor robes and noticed, quite unsurprised, that he himself was no older than thirteen.

"Come on, now, Neville, there's nothing to be afraid of." Professor Lupin said.

Neville hadn't been feeling much at all up until that moment. But as Professor Lupin spoke, and the rickety wardrobe gave a mysterious shudder, a terrible fear gripped Neville as if from nowhere. It was his final exam and he could not remember the incantation; he was going to fail, and already his classmates were beginning to laugh . . . not to mention the horrible something that would soon burst free of the wardrobe. Neville felt a wave of nausea. He didn't know it was possible to feel this afraid . . . it wasn't, he decided a moment later. He didn't know where it where the fear was coming from; only that it kept growing and growing, never stopping, even as it rooted his feet to the ground and made his heart pound painfully in his chest.

The briefest flash of a silver knife. Neville staggered, but before he could even process what had happened, the image of the sunny meadow had reappeared before his eyes as bright and cheery as before. But something was terribly wrong. The cloying scent of blood mingled with the flower's perfume, sharp and metallic in the air.

"Move it, Longbottom!" Draco Malfoy's snide voice carried above the rest.

"I don't . . . I don't want to, Professor," Neville said, and a dark shape hovered over him, laughing horribly.

"Don't be silly, Neville," replied Professor Lupin, and there was a forceful quality to his voice that made Neville shudder. "_Nothing_ is going to hurt you."

A wave of pain hit Neville with sudden and incapacitating force. He dropped to his knees this time, unable to see, biting his tongue until he tasted blood. The pain did not abate quickly as it had before, but lingered like a bruise.

"You're lying!" gasped Neville through gritted teeth.

"You are perfectly safe here!" Professor Lupin yelled, red with anger. Behind him, something began to throw its weight against the door of the wardrobe. Neville felt stabs of pain every few seconds now; he dropped to the ground, unable to defend himself from his phantom assailant.

"No . . . " Neville muttered, "No . . . !"

The smell of blood was heady and overwhelming, and the screaming had all but obliterated other sounds, and Neville could not manage to lift his wand against the terrible thing that finally burst from within the wardrobe.

Bellatrix Lestrange swaggered forward, cackling madly, and kicked Neville in the stomach. "Don't you close your eyes, boy! _Crucio!" _Her wand slashed downwards, and he was back within the confines of Hogwarts, writhing on the ground at her feet. How foolish Neville had been to let himself believe he had ever even left. The meadow was only a dream, a hallucination, created as his tortured mind had lingered on the edge of consciousness.

Bellatrix twisted her face into a sadistic smile. "Did you think you could sleep right through our little chat? Manners, Neville! Didn't your filthy little Mudblood mother teach you anything? I want you awake. I want you to feel _everything._"

Neville bared his teeth in anger, but he could not force himself to rise. Another bout of the Cruciatus Curse blurred his vision once more; when the pain dulled, Bellatrix's silhouette and the charcoal castle walls of his cell drifted in and out of focus. She cast another spell at him, one he did not recognize; with a snap and another wave of unbearable pain, he felt his left arm break.

"Does it hurt, boy?" Bellatrix jeered.

She raised her wand and Neville slammed against the wall, held as if a hand gripped him by the throat. He was choking, unable even to stand on his own. Bellatrix removed a flask of what looked like firewhisky from her cloak and downed a good amount of it. She laughed again and stumbled closer so that when she spoke, Neville could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"Oh, did I hurt you? Poor baby. Looks as if my spells are finally doing the trick." Bellatrix was suddenly an inch from his nose, crooked teeth bared in a ghastly smile. "Of course they are. Tonight's the night!"

Bellatrix took another swig of firewhisky. Neville's eyes widened, fearing the worst. _She didn't mean_ -

"By tomorrow morning, my master will be stronger than anyone that has ever walked the earth. He will be _unstoppable._" She said the word with relish, letting it roll slowly off her tongue. "_Immortal._"

Neville began to struggle against her spell, which caused her to laugh and then to stagger off balance. He had to get out, he had to at least warn Luna. _It's tonight, it's happening tonight_. His frantic thoughts raced at a million miles an hour. _We have a few hours at most, maybe. We have a plan. We can do this. I just need to escape. Need to escape . . . _But Neville could not force himself to move. His arm was broken and he was bleeding badly, and he was in more pain than he had ever been in his life. As his vision flickered once more, he wondered if it would be easier just to succumb to death now, and let the others worry about the problem at hand . . .

Bellatrix released him with a flick of her wand and laughed as he crashed to the ground. She kicked him several times in the stomach, cackling even louder when he groaned. "You know, this reminds me of something else." She stopped for a moment, raising a finger to her chin in mock concentration. Then Bellatrix's face broke into a wide smile and she kicked harder than ever. "Ah, yes! This is _exactly_ like the night I reduced your Mudblood parents to empty, drooling shells!"

A hot, corrosive anger began to burn in the pit of Neville's stomach like wildfire. Torture he could withstand, but the talk about his parents made Neville's blood grow hot. He began to shake uncontrollably; spots of red appeared in front of his eyes.

"And you know," Bellatrix lifted her wand, ignorant of his growing rage, "I think I'll do the same to - AUGH!"

Her words ended in a scream, because in one swift fluid motion Neville leapt up from the ground and lunged at Bellatrix. Caught by surprise, her wand slipped from her fingers as they toppled downwards. Neville punched her several times in the face with his good arm, releasing his rage with each swing. Bellatrix was very much capable of besting him in a wizard's duel, he knew. But if he could keep her wandless . . . he just might make it out of there alive.

Bellatrix was both strong and furious, and managed to free herself from Neville's grasp once her shock had abated. She dove for the wand, which had fallen several yards away. Neville let out a reflexive, "No!" and lunged for it as well. His hands caught her cloak and he pulled her back. She twisted around and rammed her elbow into the place where his left arm had fractured, and even the adrenaline pumping through Neville's veins could not mask the pain. He roared, dazed, and she wriggled free. Bellatrix's hand closed around the wand.

There was a flash of light and a bang. Neville had only a split second to duck; he felt something bright and hot whiz past his face and strike the wall behind him, opening a gaping hole in the tower. Both fighters were thrown back, dazed; dust and debris rained down upon them, and the ground beneath their feet shuddered dangerously. Moonlight flooded the destroyed cell, accompanied by a fierce gust of wind that whipped at Neville's hair. He was only a few footsteps away from falling to his death.

Bellatrix, intoxicated from the firewhisky, was still getting her bearings when Neville emerged, running full speed, from the cloud of dust. He charged at her headlong, knocking her into the bars that separated his prison from the rest of the castle. There was a crack and a groan, and Neville saw blood spatter the bars where Bellatrix's head had struck them. He ripped the wand from her grasp and threw her to the floor, and without even thinking, blood thundering loudly through his brain, brought it down in a vertical swing.

Neville had uttered no spell, but red stains immediately bloomed on the front of Bellatrix's robes, tracing the slash Neville had made with his wand. Though her face was deathly white and strained from discomfort, she seemed neither shocked nor angry. She merely clutched at her wound with one hand and propped herself up with the other, quite indifferent. She had retained her grin all this time.

"Well, boy." Bellatrix spat blood onto the floor. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Neville kept the wand trained on her, though he knew she wasn't going anywhere. The thrill of the fight kept him jittery, acting like the perfume of the flowers in his dream, in the same way that they kept him from thinking clearly as he watched his enemy die at his feet. Neville tried to keep a straight face, but Bellatrix must have seen a shadow of fear that flickered across it. She began to laugh hoarsely, and then to choke; more blood spilled from her mouth. But still she smiled.

"Your first kill . . . always the hardest." Bellatrix laughed again. "It doesn't matter, though . . . I will not live to see it, the Dark Lord will rise tonight greater than before . . . and will punish you . . . punish _all _of you . . . for I am his greatest . . . servant . . ."

Bellatrix was weakening, and Neville knew it. He should have left, before she died; he did not want to see it happen. But something kept him rooted to the spot. He watched her face grow slack, and her body cease stirring. In her last moment, Bellatrix's eyes found his, and for that instant he thought he saw a trace of sadness in them. But using what must have been every last ounce of strength she left in her, Bellatrix smiled wickedly up at him once more, and her lips formed one last whisper even through the blood.

"You are a monster, Neville Longbottom."

And when she died, her sadistic, gleeful expression remained.

Neville stood there for a moment, staring at his opponent's empty shell. Feelings of guilt were already washing over him, and somehow he could not convince himself that she deserved the end she had met at his hands. Her last words thundered through his brain, echoing terribly: _Your first kill . . . the Dark Lord will rise tonight . . . you are a monster, Neville Longbottom . . . _

He shook his head and swallowed. "That was for my parents." Neville said with as much force as he could muster, and with another spell, he blasted away the iron bars and sped down the tower steps.

Neville had covered what felt like several miles of stairs before he remembered the coin in his pocket. _Luna._ He thought, and halted immediately, pulling out the Galleon and sending her a message with shaking fingers: _I'm out. You've got to get here now, and bring everyone you can. Voldemort's nearly ready. The plan has to happen tonight, or not at all._

Luna's reply came shortly thereafter, urgent and alert. _Mr. Weasley's just gone to send word. Can you get the wards down?_

_Yes,_ Neville responded. _I have a wand. All that's left is the Carrows._

_Great. We can be there in maybe an hour._

_Perfect. _

Neville could picture Luna's face with photographic clarity as he received her final message.

_Good luck, Neville._

He smiled as he replied.

_Thanks, Luna._

Neville stowed away the coin and continued down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He quietly stunned the burly Death Eater that guarded the entrance to his tower, and emerged into an empty stretch of hallway he knew to be one of the seventh floor corridors, somewhere in the east wing of the school. The Dark Arts classroom - and therefore, Amycus Carrow - was on the same side of the grounds, only a few floors down. If he could sneak there undetected and silently Imperius Amycus into bringing down the wards, he might be able to avoid a fight altogether, even if the plan involved the unfortunate use of an Unforgivable Curse. But with security in the castle having turned it into little more than an educational prison, Neville would have to watch his step. Deciding it was his best chance, he stripped the guard of his clothes and stowed the unconscious man within an empty classroom nearby. Neville hoped the overlarge Death Eater robes would be enough to disguise him, at least from afar.

"_Episkey." _Neville whispered, pointing Bellatrix's wand at his left arm, and let out an involuntary sigh as the bone snapped back into place and the stabbing pain was reduced to a dull ache. Next he mended the cuts and abrasions to the rest of his body, and wiped the blood from his face. Once Neville was healed and clean, he pulled his hood over his head so that shadows hid his face, and swept off along the dark hallway.

Neville was immediately glad he had chosen to leave his own bloodstained prisoner's robes behind. Though he passed no other Death Eaters directly as he crept carefully through the halls, he spotted several from a distance that were no more than silhouettes in the dark castle. He was able to fend them off with a curt nod from afar, and they did not question his presence.

Neville was minutes from his final destination when a ghost suddenly floated through the wall only a few feet in front of him. Neville swore; he had let his guard down, and the ghost had seen beneath his hood. He turned to run even before he realized its identity - but to his immense relief, it was Nearly Headless Nick.

Nick had sense enough not to cry out, but he did jump so violently that his head wobbled dangerously on its ruffled collar. Neville pressed a finger to his lips, and Nick closed his mouth, which had fallen open in surprise.

"My - Mr. Longbottom - " Nick said in a hushed whisper. "How on earth - "

"Shh, Nick," Neville silenced him, then checked either end of the corridor before continuing, "Listen, the Order's on its way now. I need you to wake up the teachers, but tell them to wait for our signal. We're stopping Voldemort. Tonight."

Nick's eyes widened in surprise, and then he assumed a look of dignified determination. He puffed out his chest, straightened his head on its ruff, nodded, and vanished through the opposite wall. As bizarre as it felt at such a grave time, Neville found himself grinning as he closed the last hundred yards between himself and the Dark Arts wing.

Amycus' quarters were opposite his classroom, moved, at his request, so he didn't have to walk too far to get to work every day. Even from the hall, Neville could hear him snoring.

"_Alohomora." _Neville whispered, and with a quiet click, the lock turned and the door swung open a crack.

The sound of snoring intensified. Neville could only see a sliver of the room from where he stood, but even in the darkness he could make out the piles of rubbish that littered the floor; evidently the house elves had either been scared away or simply refused to clean up a Death Eater's mess. Amycus himself was curled in his bed, wearing a pear of dirty flannel pajamas and a nightcap.

Neville attempted to tiptoe inside as quietly as he could, but the door creaked on its hinges and Amycus stirred fussily. Neville stopped dead, heart hammering in his chest. What was that spell that was so popular in his sixth year? The one Harry had found in his potions book? _Mimbletona . . . no. Muffius. Muffletum._

_"Muffliato."_ A faint buzzing filled the air as Neville cast his spell. He looked towards Amycus as he began to move forwards into the room. The man merely grunted, muttered something incoherent, and rolled over in his bed. Neville raised his wand. It shook a little as he said, for the first time in his life, "_Imperio._"

Neville decided that he did not like the curious sensation which spread from his head, down his arm, and all the way to his fingertips. He did not even need to give an audible command; as soon as the thought crossed Neville's mind, Amycus' eyes snapped open. Wordlessly, the little man rose from his bed and retrieved his wand from the pile of dirty laundry he had evidently tossed it in before turning in for the night. At Neville's request, Amycus moved his hands in complicated motions, speaking in a hushed whisper.

Though it was not visible from where they were, Neville knew at that moment, half of the wards around the castle were dissipating in the air. He wondered if the Order was there yet, gathered at the edge of the grounds, or else hiding where the dementors who guarded the borders could not get them. Could they see the magical walls being brought down before them? Neville hoped not, for if the Order members could see them, so could every Death Eater in the castle.

It was becoming evident that Amycus' work required more time than Neville had anticipated. He shifted anxiously on the balls of his feet, wanting to get to Alecto as quickly as possible, but also reluctant to leave her brother to his own devices. His frown slowly growing, Neville paced the length of the dirty bedroom, checking both the door and the single window every few minutes.

"How many left?" He asked Amycus, after what felt like hours.

"_. . . Extravi Salvio Hexium."_ Amycus finished twirling his wand only to begin waving it in a different pattern. He answered in a dead voice. "One more. _Extravi Maxima Atum Contego . . . "_

A loud, grating noise like metal on metal pierced the air; for one wild moment, Neville half expected the castle to come down on them. One look out the window confirmed his worst fears, however: one of the shields was slowly disintegrating, and was apparently issuing the highly noticeable sound.

Neville whipped around at Amycus and bellowed over the din, "You! Finish the spell and then tie yourself up! Toss your wand out the window!"

Amycus gave one vague nod, and Neville tore off down the corridor. His hood flapped back as he ran; there was no point in hiding himself now, since his cover would undoubtedly be blown any minute -

"Amycus! Amycus, damn it, answer me! I swear, If you've let those wards go down on anything but the Dark Lord's express orders - "

Neville only had a second's warning before Alecto Carrow barreled around the corner, wheezing and clutching a stitch in her side, missing him by mere inches. She recognized him suddenly as she flew past, but it took her several seconds to skid to a halt and whip around in shock. By this time Neville had already sent a Stunning Spell in her direction, but Alecto deflected his attack with a flick of her own wand.

"Longbottom!" She shrieked, cheeks flushed with color. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Neville managed to dodge the jet of cold green light; he rolled to his right and shot another two Stunning Spells at Alecto, but she blocked them easily.

"_Confringo!" _She screamed. Neville's shield charm went up only just in time; he felt it crack with the force of the spell.

Neville swore. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible, for the terrible screeching that still sounded over everything had undoubtedly awakened half the castle by now. Neville only hoped that the Order members could get through in the confusion, before the grounds were swarmed with Death Eaters.

"_Paellicula_!" Neville cried in desperation, executing his wild plan even as it formulated in his brain.

The corridor immediately filled with a dense, purplish mist that obscured everything, seen or heard, outside of the immediate vicinity. The dark shapes of wall lamps and tapestries loomed suddenly out of the smoke as Neville approached them; even the screeching noise of the wards being brought down was silenced to no more than a dull hum.

Quietly, cautiously, Neville moved toward the dark silhouette he knew to be Alecto. Intermittent flashes of light and muffled cries told Neville that she was firing into the abyss, frustrated, but to no avail; her spells were flying in the completely wrong direction. With a silent flick of his wand, the mist reducing his words to a mere whisper, she fell to the ground. With another wave, the mist vanished as quickly as it had come, and Neville saw that Alecto lay before Stunned before him.

Neville set off again with a bounding leap, wasting no time to take in the scene. The grating wail suddenly silenced as he ran; Neville, passing a window, skidded to a stop and backtracked, eyes caught by the scene that was playing out beyond the glass. The last flickers of a reddish shield wavered and vanished just as he looked, and in the distance, Neville saw a band of dark figures rush onto the grounds towards the school. From this far away, he could not see their faces, even as they were illuminated by bright flashes of light, but Neville knew immediately who they were. He smiled. The battle for Hogwarts had begun.


	14. Return to Hogwarts

**Harry Potter Is Dead**

**Chapter 14 | Return to Hogwarts**

* * *

><p>Ron gripped his wand tighter in his sweating palm. For a moment he was frozen, staring at Luna, thoughts racing too quickly for any of them to make sense. <em>Now? <em>was all Ron was able to come up with. _Oh, bloody hell, not now. I'm not ready. Don't make me do this, please -_

"How much time do we have?" asked Mr. Weasley shortly. Ron started.

"Now much." replied Luna. "We need to go immediately, by the sound of it."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "I'll notify anyone that might be willing to help us." Without another word, he swept out of the room and down the stairs. Ron was offset by his father's calm; it was almost businesslike.

"I'll go and tell mum." said Bill, a sense of urgency and purpose ringing in his voice. "The rest of you, let's get downstairs and be ready to go as soon as everyone shows up." One by one, Ron's siblings and Luna filed out of the room as nonchalantly as if they were strolling through a park. None of them were shaking like he was.

When he was all alone in the room, Ron let out a puff of air and began to pace. He wondered, yet again, why he wasn't used to this sort of thing by now. Harry would have been out the door in five minutes, cool as a cucumber, ready to face any number of Death Eaters and giant spiders and god knows whatever else would have come his way. And then there was Ron, lagging behind, always second guessing_. God damn it_, he thought, kicking a chair in frustration_. I wish he were here. _Ron easily could have grabbed the Resurrection Stone and talked to Harry right then and there, but he found himself quickly pushing the idea away. He did not think he could stand the look in Harry's eyes if he knew that Ron was doubting again.

The pacing was doing nothing to stop the weak feeling in his legs, and so Ron stepped into the hall and opened the window in the hope that the cool night air on his face would calm him a bit. Several floors below, he could hear his father speaking hurriedly into the fireplace. Soon the Burrow would be swarmed with friends of the Order, moving through the kitchen and our into the back garden, where Ron supposed either Mr. Weasley or Bill would quickly run them through the plan once more before they left. Not that there was much they had to do, anyway, considering the night's success basically depended on Ron's and Hermione's success, and theirs alone . . .

A soft noise in the landing made Ron turn. He prepared to defend himself against George's jovial accusations that he was nothing but a coward, but it was Hermione standing at the top of the stairs, not his brother. Immediately Ron relaxed. He knew she was the one person for whom he did not have to pretend. She approached, and without question he folded her into his arms. Ron did not know how long he and Hermione held each other, but when he released her, his hands were no longer shaking.

"Your dad's just Flooed the Order. They should be arriving any minute." Hermione said. She crossed her arms and leaned out the open window, so that the cool night wind waved her hair back and forth. For a few moments she stared out at the stars in the sky, listening to the hum of the cicadas in the orchard. Then she let out a long sigh. "This is it, Ron."

"It is." he said. "Doesn't seem real, does it?"

"No." Hermione breathed. "Ron, I'm so afraid." He could not think of anything to say, so he put his arm around her, trying to comfort her in any way he could. But Hermione continued right along, voicing her fears with an air of talking to herself. "I mean, I've just been keeping myself awake every night for the past few weeks just thinking about it, all the things that could go wrong, all the ways we could - "

But she caught sight of Ron's expression and stopped short, clearly affronted. He was making a great effort to hide his smile, aware that it was tactless, but he could not stop the grin from spreading across his face. Hermione gave him a reproachful look, and he coughed, red but still grinning.

"You think it's _funny_ that we're about to risk our lives for - " She began hotly, shocked, but Ron cut across her and took her hands in his.

"No, no, Hermione, it's not that! It's just . . . stupid, really. It's almost like . . . we're back at Hogwarts, and there's exams coming up. You were already out of your head worrying about it a few weeks ago, but me . . . yesterday I was fine, and now I can't sit still. Waited to the last minute as usual."

This made her laugh as well; but by then the grin had faded from Ron's face. She looked at him, probably noting the dark circles under his eyes and the twitch in his fingers. His brief happiness had been replaced by a humorless expression that was more like a grimace than a smile. "Ron, are you all right?" She asked. "Ron?"

"You know, it is funny, actually." Ron began, though there was no trace of amusement left in his tone. "I'm not scared, you know, of failing or messing up like you've been saying you are. It's - it's something different."

Ron felt Hermione's hand slide up his arm and onto his shoulder, where it moved in small, comforting circles. He could tell that she was looking at him with concern, her head tilted to the side so that her bushy wind-blown hair fell all over her face. And yet Ron could not bring himself to make eye contact. He focused instead on chipping faded paint away from the old windowsill just for something to do.

"It's more like . . . " Ron continued, making his greatest effort to describe the feeling to her. "Like I don't mind not winning, but . . . I don't want anyone to get hurt, at all. And I know it's stupid," Ron scraped away at the paint. "since we're about to fight a bloody battle here. I can't expect for there not to be casualties. But I wish there weren't. I just don't want to loose anyone."

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. "You know who you sound like?" she muttered quietly. "Harry."

Ron could feel his ears starting to heat up. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"You're going on about how you don't want anyone to die - "

" - Of _course_ I don't want anyone to die - "

"And I know that, but still! You know it sounds like something he would say. Come on, I can see your ears turning red." This, of course, made Ron turn an even darker shade of scarlet. Hermione continued, "Remember the night he died? He kept going on about how the whole thing was his fault."

"But it wasn't."

"No, it wasn't, just like whatever happens tonight shouldn't be on your conscience either." And then she gave him a sideways look that Ron saw out of the corner of his eyes. "You're trying to be like him, aren't you?" she said, so quietly that Ron almost did not hear.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ron . . . "

"Yeah, okay, so what if I am, all right?" Ron snapped.

"Nothing's wrong, it's just - "

"Just what?"

Hermione's expression softened. "You don't have to pretend to be Harry in order to be brave. You already are." Ron opened his mouth to protest, but she rolled right along, her voice gaining an almost fiery quality to it. "No, you listen to me, Ronald Weasley. You are just as brave as Harry was, and believe me, I know. I've been your best friend since we were first years. I've watched you fight off Death Eaters and dementors and all sorts of horrid things, and I've watched face them again and again for seven years straight and do it without even blinking. I've watched you size up a situation in which there is no logical way you could make it out alive, and then take the chance and succeed anyway. So don't you dare try and tell me that you aren't good enough, or that you're second best, because you are just the opposite."

Ron finally mustered enough courage to turn around and look Hermione in the eye, and when he did, hers were full of tears. She smiled at him a little sadly, but he found he could not return the gesture; her words were still reverberating in his head, and he was still trying fruitlessly to absorb their meaning. "Oh, Ron." she said pityingly, and she threw her arms around him again. "It's going to be all right. We're going to be okay."

"He's dying tonight." Ron whispered into Hermione's ear. "I'm gonna kill him. For Harry."

Hermione released him, looking up at him with a strange expression on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but a door slammed downstairs and both of them started. "We should probably head outside." She said a bit breathlessly.

"Yeah . . . "

They took the stairs slowly, exchanging no more words, though Ron's knuckles were white from gripping Hermione's hand so tightly.

" . . . once Neville has the wards down." Bill was saying as the two joined the rather underwhelming crowd assembled on the back lawn. "We'll be stationed at this point in the forest, a short ways away from where we Apparated . . . "

Ginny walked up to them while they listened to Bill explain their plan of action. None of them spoke as she approached. While others in the crowd looked as if they might be sick, Ginny, on the contrary, appeared quite calm. So calm, in fact, it was rather unnerving.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Ron heard Hermione whisper, and he knew that she too had noticed Ginny's eerily serene demeanor.

She did not speak, but gave a quick, confident nod.

"You know, if you're not sure about this, we can always - "

"I'm sure."

The tiniest crease appearing between Hermione's brows, she tried again. "We just want you to be safe."

"Hermione, I'm going. Regardless of what anyone says."

"I know, but . . . "

"But what?"

Hermione shifted her balance uncomfortably. "Aren't you . . . nervous?"

"No, I'm not." Ginny said, and her cheeks flushed with color. "I'm ready."

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione, and he was sure that she was remembering an evening a few weeks prior, when the Order had been hard at work planning in the Burrow's living room.

The room had been crowded with important Order members, all conversing in low, somber tones about the impending invasion of Hogwarts. Pages of notes and maps of the school were scattered about the room. Luna's Galleon and the Resurrection Stone rested together on a table, never far from reach. It was only dusk, but Ron had been achingly tired; they had been plotting together since lunchtime, and the room smelled of stale air and sweat. They had been in the midst of discussing Ron's and Hermione's roles in the attack - unsettlingly large ones at that - when a noise had called from the foot of the stairs.

"I can go with them." said a small voice. "I want to go."

Mr. Weasley stopped speaking in the middle of a word, his eyes wide, fixed apon the frail figure that approached nervously. "Absolutely not." He said immediately, without even need for consideration. "You are staying here."

"Don't make me, dad." Ginny whined. "I can fight. I can do this. I'm going."

"Ginny," Mr. Weasley finally found his voice. "Think about what you are saying."

"I have."

"You obviously have not!" He said, looking, Ron saw, not angry, but pained. "I don't like this plan to begin with. It's bad enough your brother and Hermione are going ahead. I'll not have you risking yourself as well."

"But I _want_ to go." Ginny repeated to her father, as if reassuring herself of the fact. Mr. Weasley rubbed his brow, looking exhausted. Ginny took the opportunity to justify herself. "I'm a year younger than them, I look more like a student. The Death Eaters don't know my face like they do Ron's and Hermione's. I can do it, dad. I can."

"It doesn't matter if you're capable or not, what matters is your safety! I don't care if you've got the power to stop You-Know-Who with a single spell. You could be hurt or captured or killed, and by Merlin, I'm not losing anyone else in this family."

At this an even deeper silence fell over the room, as its inhabitants sucked in their breath. Ron had never seen Mr. Weasley like this. It was not anger, that would have been startling enough; no, this was much more unsettling. A moment later Ron had realized that this was a different expression he was witnessed, one that he had never, ever seen his father succumb to, not once in all his life. The understanding shook Ron to his very core, and in that moment, he suddenly realized just how serious this situation was. His father was afraid.

Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and put her arm around Ginny, but the latter shook it off.

"No, mum. I've made up my mind. I'm coming with you. With Ron and Hermione"

"Ginny, dear, please." She begged.

"Mum, I can do this!"

"Ginny," Mr. Weasley said. "I don't think you can."

"And so what if I can't? It's better than sitting up in my room all alone while you all could be dying!" Ginny shouted, color rising to her cheeks. "That's all I've been doing for the past year! Just waiting, and crying, and being nothing but a burden! I can't stand it any more! I want to help, I want to make up for it!"

There was a minute in which the only sounds were the chirping of birds and the murmur of voices from the floors above. Mr. Weasley, it seemed, was at a loss for words. When he finally spoke, it was with a hoarse, tired voice. He seemed to have just realized the crowd of people that were surrounding him. "Ginny, come and discuss this outside with your mother and me."

The next time Ron had seen Ginny, it was an hour later and she was helping to prepare for dinner. He approached in order to ask her the outcome of the conversation with their parents, but she answered even before he had the chance to open his mouth. "I'm coming with you and Hermione." She said evenly. Her eyes never left the pot she was stirring, but the pallor of her face and the crease in her brows betrayed her calm.

"Any questions?" Bill asked the gathering at large, and Ron was unceremoniously jerked back to the present. His brother let the silence ring for a moment before dismissing the crowd.

They had a short distance to walk until - _crack! _Ron could hear those closest to the edge of the Burrow's enchantments already Disapparating for Hogwarts. Ron slipped his fingers between Hermione's as they reached the boundary, and they twisted into darkness, his only comfort the faint pressure of her hand as they moved together towards an uncertain future.

The rendezvous point was far enough from both the school and Hogsmeade to make the Order members sure that they would not be heard as they appeared, one by one, within the Forbidden Forest. Under the cover of darkness and fog, they moved quickly and quietly towards the area at the edge of the trees where they knew, from careful scouting trips, that security was just slightly thinner than anywhere else.

The main group stopped before they were within sight of the castle, while several fighters moved ahead to take out the Death Eaters guarding the edge of the wards. They had to be fast and secretive; it was imperative that they take the section out without anyone else nearby realizing what was amiss. Ron was not sure how long it took them, but it seemed like an eternity. He knew if they failed to be stealthy now, and a full-scale battle erupted before they were even within the grounds, then the entire battle was lost. The element of surprise was their greatest weapon, and they would be nothing without it.

Ron was immensely relieved when the first of the fighters returned to the cover of the forest, dragging the unconscious body of a burly Death Eater through the mist. She had frowned when others congratulated them, saying, "There were hardly any there. It was strange, there should have been more."

"They're in the castle." George guessed. "Something's going down in there, and we need to stop it."

They nodded in agreement, each one conjuring horrible images in their heads about what Voldemort might be doing to complete his potion at that moment.

When the last of the Death Eaters had been stunned and pulled into the forest, the Order cast Disillusionment charms and headed up towards the barrier. Though a length along the wards had been cleared of guards, they knew if any others ventured too near and discovered the strange rippling effect the air had in that place, things could go very wrong very fast. Never letting go of Hermione's hand, they crept through the thinnest trees of the forest until Hogwarts castle suddenly loomed up out of the fog. Ron had forgotten how much he had missed the sight.

Bill stepped forward with his wand aloft and began to whisper complex incantations under his breath, the only sound in the desolation. His skill as a curse breaker was limited, however, against charms of this strength and magnitude.

"Come on, Neville." Ron whispered under his breath. All that was left to do was wait.

"Let's get our robes on, Ron." said Hermione after an undeterminable while, starting towards the cover of the trees, where she removed her Disillusionment Charm. "You too, Ginny."

The robes, of course, were just the beginning of their disguises. Besides their old Gryffindor uniforms ( magically modified to bear the now-standard Slytherin emblems ) each of them would be heavily Transfigured in lieu of Polyjuice Potion, which they had not been able to brew in time for the attack. Once Hermione was done with each of them, and then used a mirror to change her own appearance, Ron had trouble recognizing even himself. Hermione's black hair fell in pin-straight waves down to her waist; her eyes were large and hazel, and her skin was pale and clear. Ginny was much smaller than normal, with short brown hair and dark, heavy brows. Ron himself looked much as he had when Hermione Transfigured him on the day they broke into Gringotts; the only difference was that he lacked a beard. All of them looked noticeably younger, easily school age, and - most importantly - not at all like themselves.

"Are you three ready?" asked the shimmery column of air that spoke with the voice of Mr. Weasley, when they had finished.

"Definitely." Ron answered.

Mr. Weasley tapped his wand to his head once and then there was he was again, visible once more. Ron could see his father's expression even in the deep night, but found it difficult to place, though it was both sorrowful and proud. Mr. Weasley looked them up and down once and then pulled them each into a hug. Hermione first, then Ginny, and lastly Ron. He gripped his son as if Ron was his last lifeline; as if he might never see the latter again . . . a possibility, he noted, that was very, very real. Ron found himself pouring his every emotion into the gesture, trying to convey to his father everything that he felt, everything he could not put into words. When his father stepped back to look Ron in the eye, arms still placed on his shoulders, there was a certain quality to his emotion that make Ron think that perhaps he understood.

"Ginny - Ron - Hermione - " Bill grunted from the front of the crowd. His father released Ron immediately and the three hurried towards Bill, who stood with his arms and legs apart, wand raised, apparently under great strain. "Go." He said simply, and without another word, the three stepped through the hole Bill had created in the wards.

The moment they crossed the boundary, the Bill allowed the protective charms to crash back into place. He stumbled quickly backwards, as if something had snapped at him. Ron had just enough time to look over his shoulder only to see the discolored tear in the wards immediately heal itself like some bizarre magical wound. Then they were alone, Hermione, Ginny, and he. Their friends and family were now nothing but hazy silhouettes on what might have been the other side of the world.

"Come on, Ron." Hermione said quietly. "We're on our own now."

They crept through the grounds as stealthily as they could, the thin mist that covered the grounds giving them at least a minimal amount of cover. Ron repeated the steps of the plan over and over again in his head as they ran, terrified he might forget even though they had spent the past hour reciting it to one another while they waited. After ten minutes they arrived, breathless, in the courtyard, miraculously unseen.

This was not part of the plan, however.

"All right, Ginny, you go and get the Death Eater." Hermione said. "Try to avoid the ones you've seen fighting us before. There's still a chance they'll recognize us." Ginny nodded and turned to leave, but Hermione stopped her, with an endearingly familiar look of apprehension on her face. "Er . . . don't bring anyone that looks too mean, all right?"

Ginny smirked. Then she turned and disappeared through the doors to the entrance hall, swallowed up by the fog. The two stood and watched her for a moment, listening for any signs of approaching enemies. Ron, adrenaline rushing through his veins, felt jittery. He was very aware that he and Hermione were alone, probably for the last time before they faced what was seeming more and more like certain death.

"How long d'you think she'll be?" Ron said, to break the silence.

"A few minutes, I think. There are Death Eaters everywhere, it shouldn't take long." She answered.

Ron breathed out, trying to calm his nerves. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, drawing her into him, holding her close. She wrapped her arms around his chest without hesitation, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Ron . . . if - if we don't make it out of this . . . " Hermione began, blushing.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, don't do this." Ron said, but she pushed on.

"No, I need to, Ron. I just - " She paused, then continued determinedly. Though she stammered at first, her voice gained strength as she went on. "I want you to know how much I love you, and how glad I am that you're here with me. I don't think I could do this alone."

"And I feel exactly the same way." Ron said matter-of-factly. "If it weren't for you, Hermione, I'd still be trapped in that Devil's Snare we found our first year." He said. "Or else have flunked Potions so many times I'd still be a student right now."

He meant the statement as a way of stopping Hermione from saying her last goodbyes. He wasn't sure he could take another lengthy chat about their feelings. She laughed at his joke, but much to Ron's surprise as hers, he continued. "I, er, I mean it, Hermione. Every time my ass needed saving you've always been there. You're smart, and you're brave, and you've never failed Harry and me, ever, not once. I'm so damn lucky to have you."

Hermione pulled away from him; not out of his embrace, but so she could look him in the eyes. Her Transfigured irises were glimmering with tears. "I wish - I wish we could have more t-time." She hiccupped. "I wish I could spend forever with you."

And then a thought struck Ron like a bolt of lightning in that it seemed to electrify him, awaken his senses. In a single moment, everything was clear; he knew what he needed to do. He didn't even bother to consider it - he didn't need to. It was crazy, brash, thoughtless, and yet nothing had ever seemed so undoubtedly _right_ to him before.

"Marry me, Hermione." She looked at him with such shock that Ron fought the bizarre desire to chuckle at the way her mouth opened in a comical _O_. "Oh, come on, we're dying tonight anyway." Ron said, and her laugh turned into a sob, and before he knew it tears were pouring down her face. Whether they were tears of happiness, sadness, or fear, Ron could not tell; Hermione appeared to be feeling all of these emotions at once. She made several attempts to speak, but her words were senseless and disjointed.

"Hermione, listen," Ron said, more seriously, and she made an effort to calm herself. "I know you must think I'm completely mad, doing this now of all times, but . . . actually, you're probably right on that one. But either way . . . you see . . . and maybe you felt this way too . . . I've always sort of _known_ that I was going to end up marrying you. I don't really know how, I can't explain it too well . . . but deep down I just don't think I've ever considered another outcome. Even if this seems rushed, I know I'm making a decision I won't regret. So if we die, damn it, I want to die married to the girl I love."

Hermione was crying harder than ever, but by now Ron could tell with absolute certainty that she was crying out of joy. She jumped up and down, covered her hand with her mouth, smiled even though the tears did not stop. It took her a while to remember how to speak coherently again, but when she did, the words that tumbled out of her mouth were the most wonderful Ron had ever heard.

"Oh - oh, Ron, goodness, yes! I'll d-do it, I'll do it, we're getting _m-married - !_ "

Without hesitation Ron scooped Hermione up into his arms and kissed her like he had never kissed her before. He swept her off her feet and they spun in a circle, laughing, kissing, crying. For a shining eternity, all thoughts of the attack and Voldemort and the Wizarding War were wiped from Ron's mind as if they had never been. There was only Hermione, Hermione and the most incredible sensations he had ever felt; it was as if firewhisky had replaced all the blood in his veins, as if they were flying through the air at a million miles an hour.

Ron was not sure how long they stood there, but at some point a while later there was a bang as the door to the castle flew open. They jumped apart, dazed. It was a frightening moment before Ron realized what was happening - Ginny had returned with the Death Eater, as planned, whom they prayed would mistake them for students and escort them into the castle without them arousing much suspicion.

"What the bloody 'ell is you two doin'?" The Death Eater yelled, a man with a pointed gray beard and the slurred speech of a heavy drinker.

"They snuck off together, sir, I saw them go." Ginny said.

"Well I know that, thanks, yeh bleedin' sneak!" The Death Eater bellowed at her, and Ron was relieved that she stood her ground. "What d'you two has to say for yourselves?

"Er - we were just - " Hermione, already caught off guard, played the part perfectly without meaning to. She hastily wiped at her tears, biting her lower lip and looking terrified.

"You was _just_ gettin' inside!" bellowed the Death Eater. "This assembly's mandatory!"

"It's - it's so late at night, though." Ron stammered.

"The Dark Lord decides whether it's too late for somefink, not you! You'd bes' well hope I don't tell 'im 'bout what I's found here, or else I don' even wanna think what he'd do to ter _you_." He added with relish, his lips splitting into a gormless grin, revealing several cracked teeth.

"No sir, please! We're very sorry." Hermione pleaded, and there was real fear edging her voice; if the assembly the Death Eater mentioned had already started, then Voldemort's plan was already in motion. They needed to get in there as quickly as possible, and if this man dealt them a large enough punishment, it could jeopardize the entire mission.

"Oh, I bet you is! You's lucky the Dark Lord's so busy . . . the Carrows, on the other hand . . . "

"Please, sir, it won't happen again." Ron said.

"Oh, I's sure it won', not after we's done with you. Wonder what your punishment's gonna be. Lessee . . . breakin' curfew . . . sneakin' on the grounds . . . public displays o' affection . . . " At the mention of their last crime, his grin grew even wider. "Ya can't learn to control yourself, you gon' be _punished._" Ron did not like the way the Death Eater was looking at Hermione. He stepped in front of her protectively, which only made the Death Eater's ugly smile curve into a snarl. "Way I sees it, you both deserves a week in the dungeons hung up by the ankles. But . . . in light of tonight's circumstances . . . " There was something about the way that he said _circumstances_ that made Ron shiver. " . . . you's free to go. _Inside, to the Great Hall, and nowhere else!"_ He added forcefully. "_Now move!"_

"Yes, sir!"

"Thank you, sir!"

They hurried away as fast as they could, entering the castle through the heavy door that still hung ajar. They could hear his footsteps behind them as they raced away, but the man walked with a limp, and at their brisk speed, they soon outpaced him. When they were far enough away, Ron and Hermione dared to join hands again. The two exchanged a look. They had each arrived at the same conclusion.

"D'you know why he just let us go like that?" Ron murmured quietly, and although he already knew the answer, Ginny, running a few steps ahead of them, answered anyway.

"Because he doesn't expect any of students to make it past tonight."


	15. Little Stars

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 15 | Little Stars**

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was filled with a dull buzz when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny entered. The students were murmuring to each other, voicing concerns and speculations in as loud a whisper as they dared. The house tables had been Vanished, and their usual occupants moved about the room, displaced and confused. They had obviously been rushed quickly from their beds; most had donned dressing gowns or travelling cloaks over their pajamas. Their fear and uncertainty seemed tangible in the air.<p>

Voldemort stood over them all, on the raised platform which had once housed the staff table. A vast stone cauldron rested beside him, reddish liquid bubbling it its cavernous belly. His terrible snake hung over him, long enough to curl around his shoulders and then onto the floor. Hermione watched, sickened, as Voldemort added its poison to the cauldron and then allowed it to chew on something that looked horribly like a human hand.

"We need to get up there. Now." Ron whispered in her ear, already moving. "End this before it begins."

Hermione placed a hand on his arm as he raised his wand, and he turned to her. "Ron, please, let's think this through - " But Hermione's reply was extinguished as Voldemort suddenly stepped back from his cauldron, which belched flames like the mouth of a dragon. When he spoke, his voice was magically modified so that the echoes rang unsettlingly in Hermione's ears. The edge of triumph in his voice was unmistakable.

"Silence." Voldemort ordered, and immediately the room fell deathly quiet; fear did the job of a Silencing Charm. "I am sure you wonder why I have called you here at this late hour. Do not worry. You have nothing to fear. Lord Voldemort merely requires your assistance, nothing more . . . " Hermione saw heads in the crowd look back and forth, worried looks exchanged but no words. "I lack both the time and the patience to explain to you the complexity of the events that will be unfolding tonight, but I do want you to understand the importance of them. Know that you are witnessing things that will be written into history books, celebrated for years to come. Many would be grateful to be present here, now. But not only are you granted this express privilege, you are given a second distinction. Your roles tonight will not only be that of simple spectators. No, each and every one of you are absolutely essential. For your aid, you have my thanks. Lord Voldemort is grateful for your sacrifice."

A shiver went down Hermione's spine at the word _sacrifice_, and a little wave of hushed voices washed over the crowd before it was quickly extinguished. Friends turned to one another, confused, daring to ask questions. But Voldemort did not elaborate. He continued to pace the length of the raised platform, his lips curled in a cruel smile.

"I will ensure," he said, over the rising murmurs of the crowd. "That your heroism is remembered. It is a great honor, the task that you have been given tonight, and I ask that you treat it as such. Forever more shall you be known as those brave and devoted souls that gave themselves for the greater good."

Silence. And then someone screamed. All at once chaos erupted in the Great Hall, and whatever the power of fear had held over the crowd had broken; now they moved like a churning sea, a tumult of anxious and frightened voices rising to a uproar. Hermione saw Voldemort's wand slice through the air, knew what was coming a moment before it did, but she was powerless to stop it -

"_Imperio!_"

And at the last moment Hermione felt Ron's hand on her shoulder; allowed it to drag her back through the doorway and into the entrance hall. A split second later there was a noise like a cannon blast and the voices were extinguished like a candle flame. Hermione turned towards Ron, wanting to thank him, knowing that he had just saved their lives; but he pressed a finger to his lips and pointed towards the door. Not a sound came from within the Great Hall. Hermione made an effort to control her heavy, nervous breathing, which suddenly seemed deafening in the quiet.

Then movement sounded from within in the hall, and this time it was Ginny that pulled them both inside. It was not a moment too soon: behind them, the doors slammed shut with a flick of Voldemort's wand. They had no time to worry, however; the students were moving into a line that stretched from the cauldron all the way to the back of the room. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron rushed as quickly as they could towards the front of the queue, trying desperately not to seem obvious. But they were not fast enough. A dozen students stood in front of them, wide eyed and blank faced, no longer in control of their actions.

Hermione peered as far as she dared over the shoulders of the people in front of her, watching the first student approach the enormous cauldron out of the corner of her eye. For a moment nothing happened. Then the door burst open once more and dementors flooded the room, filling the air with an bone-chilling cold. The torches on the walls blew out, one by one, and an unnatural darkness fell over them like a blanket. Only the eerie glow from the cauldron remained.

Voldemort gestured with his wand, and the dementors closed in a ring around the mousy-haired boy who stood obediently at the front of the line. One glided forward silently from the shadows. It grasped the boy with its slimy, rotting hands and latched itself onto him like a deadly parasite. Then Voldemort began the spell, a chant so long and complicated that Hermione could not grasp its meaning. Hermione did not like it. The spell sounded . . . _evil_. As if the very words were cursed. The boy whimpered, and in the deadly silence Hermione could hear it loud and clear. A moment later she heard him fall to the ground, and Voldemort used the tip of his wand to guide something into the cauldron, brilliant and glowing, like a miniature star.

"This is horrible." Hermione dared whisper to Ron, as a girl of no more than twelve took the boy's place. Hermione could see her shaking, somehow aware of what was happening. She was so young, and yet so strong.

"I know. I know. We'll save the rest. I promise." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Just shh. Move quickly, stay quiet. You've got it?"

Hermione nodded tersely. The little girl's tiny body fell with an echoing _thud, _and Hermione could not keep herself from flinching. Her hand were balled so tightly into fists that her fingernails dug into her palms. It was almost funny, she thought with sudden absurdity, that their best hope against Voldemort was nothing more than a handful of dirt.

Minutes passed, each second dragging on like hours. Hermione was forced to watch student after student walk calmly to their death - no, it was worse than that. They were condemned to life; an empty, cursed life. She wanted so desperately to help them, to leap out of line and shield them from harm's way. But too much lay at stake here. Hermione could only watch and wait. The line continued to inch forward, slowly but surely, and with each passing moment she felt her heartbeat grow louder. She moved closer and closer to the front of the line, and her terror grew, and all of the fears she had worked so hard to repress came rushing back to her with the force of a tidal wave.

Hermione's eyes swiveled in desperation, searching for some comforting sight to latch onto even though she knew there was none. She saw Travers among the sea of Death eaters, felt his gaze meet her own for a fraction of a second. Then they slid, as if in slow motion, past her own stare. Hermione saw the tiniest flicker of recognition on his face as he saw Ron, and knew instantly that action must happen now - they should never have Transfigured Ron the same way they had one year previously -

Suddenly there was only one other person ahead of Hermione. She was less than ten feet away from the most powerful dark wizard of all time. They were only seconds from certain discovery, and possible death. And yet time seemed to slow. Without trying to be, without knowing how she had accomplished the feat, she was completely, utterly, and inexplicably calm. Abruptly, the rest of the world faded away. Hermione knew exactly what to do.

And then, as the boy in front of her collapsed and was dragged aside, and a wide stretch of empty space stood between her and Voldemort, several things happened at once.

Travers let loose a cry of recognition, but his warning was lost as an earsplitting shriek rent the air, like tearing metal. Instantaneously, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all darted forward, each in a different direction; Hermione leapt at the cauldron and hurled into its depths the handful of dirt she had picked up in the courtyard; Ron sprinted forward as fast as he could, shooting a deluge of Severing Charms at the head of the great snake Nagini; Ginny danced away from them all, smashing the window at the front of the hall and sending through it a shower of red sparks, signaling to the Order that it was time to storm the grounds. All this happened in an instant, and as glass rained down apon them like a summer shower, Hermione thought that their plan must succeed, that there was no way that Voldemort could possibly respond in time -

Voldemort acted with such speed and precision that Hermione did not even see his arm move. His spell stopped the dirt before it reached the cauldron; it stopped in midair and then vanished without a trace. In the same languid motion, he cast another spell, and suddenly Ron was flying across the room like a marionette that had been knocked aside, his Severing Charms doing little damage to the enormous snake. He struck the opposite wall with a sickening _crack _and then slid to the floor, clutching his ribs. Ginny was face-down on the ground, as still as a statue that had fallen from its plinth.

"You _dare!_" Voldemort hissed.

Hermione did not even have time to scream before she too was hit with an unknown force. The pain incapacitated her; for a moment she could see nothing but stars, feel nothing but pain. Dimly she became aware of the blood that coated the side of her face, and the wall that she leaned against, which a moment ago had been forty feet away. Her vision cleared within a moment, but her body did not want to move. But she must get up, she must keep fighting . . . so much depended on this . . .

With an agonizing cry, Hermione clawed herself up the wall and into a standing position. She had been tossed further than Ron and Ginny, whom Voldemort now encircled. All but a few Death Eaters had left the Great Hall, their wands drawn; for flashes now illuminated the night sky outside of the broken window - the battle had begun. Voldemort was speaking, though whether to her or his servants she could not tell; the ringing in her ears was too loud. She staggered upwards immediately and threw herself at him, but with a spell Hermione was thrown to the ground once more, inches from Ron and Ginny. Their wands were several feet away, discarded by Voldemort, who seemed to think that they were no threats with or without magic. She wanted to retrieve them, to gain some small modicum of protection, but she could not move, and her hands could only reach so far . . .

"Ginny . . . " Ron's voice echoed strangely in her ears. It took a long time for Hermione to make sense of the word, and when she did, her eyes widened with fear. Run was clutching at his chest and trying to crawl towards his unmoving sister. "Ginny . . . Ginny! Damn it, GINNY!"

But she did not stir, and Ron was screaming, and the world was spinning. It did not seem real; Hermione could not believe it . . . Ginny could not be -

"Enough." said Voldemort, and he knocked Ron away from his sister with a lazy twitch of his wand. "Tell me your name, boy."

Ron did not answer. There were tears pouring down his face, and Hermione could tell by the way he shook that he was struggling to control himself.

"He is a member of the Order of the Phoenix." Travers said breathlessly, eager to please his master. "I remember him, my Lord. He was part of the party that broke into Gringotts last year. Daspard, Dragomir Daspard was his name."

"But we knew him to be a fake, of course, Travers," Voldemort said, and Travers shrank back. "This disguise belongs to one Ronald Weasley. You fought alongside Potter all your life, did you not, boy? Worshipped at his feet, I daresay." He laughed. "But you remember that I killed your hero here, on these very grounds, just over one year ago? He was so cowardly in death. He pleaded on his knees that I take the lives of others instead, even yours, Weasley - "

"YOU LIAR!" Ron lunged at Voldemort, but his broken ribs did not permit movement; he collapsed, a hand over his chest, grunting in pain.

"Ron!" Hermione cried.

"And this one . . . " Voldemort prodded the immobile Ginny with his foot. "I do not recognize this body . . . "

"Don't touch her!"

Voldemort smiled, a cold, mirthless expression. "A lover, perhaps? Or a sister? You know Dumbledore always said _love,_" He spat out the word with disgust, "was 'the most powerful magic of all' . _. . _and just look at all that it has done for him. Love did not save him from death either, Ronald Weasley, just as it failed to protect your beloved champion."

"Dumbledore was ten times the man you are." Hermione hissed, and she was shocked at her own daring. "And Harry as well."

Now Voldemort turned his scarlet gaze on her. He laughed. "You fools. Dumbledore and Potter lie festering in the grave, and I am the most powerful wizard in the world. I surpassed both of them long ago. It will not do for you to deny the truth in this, especially after tonight, when my new order begins . . . an order which I think, " He looked over at the students who still stood lined in front of the cauldron, cut from the glass that had fallen but taking no notice of their own injuries. "You will help me to build."

"Never!" shouted Ron.

"You will not have a choice." Voldemort's lifeless smile was terrifying; Hermione closed her eyes as he raised his wand, not wanting it to be her last sight. She waited Voldemort to speak the last words she would ever hear, for the Imperius Curse to wipe her clean like a blank slate. But it did not come.

"No," And by Voldemort's cruel tone she knew that this was no offering of mercy. "I want you to feel it. _Astrictus._"

Ron and Hermione were pulled to their feet, tugged as if by invisible chains that bound their hands and feet. Hermione fought with every fiber of her being to free herself, but to no avail. Beside her Ron struggled as well, but it seemed to be his separation from Ginny that motivated him to fight. His eyes never left her body even as they jerked to a stop, immobile, before the cauldron.

The Dementor descended on Hermione first, its slimy fingers reaching greedily. She gripped Ron's hand so tightly that it hurt, and she was grateful that she could still feel anything at all. _I am a person. I have a soul. I am alive. _Hermione repeated over and over again, acutely aware that they would no longer be true - at least in most respects - in a moment. She would have preferred death to this terrible oblivion, but she could accept it nonetheless. And then she began to berate herself. _You are a Gryffindor, _said a voice in her head. _You shouldn't have given up, you should be fighting still, even if there's no hope! You coward, Hermione, why aren't you fighting?_

The Dementor's hands were forcing her chin upwards now, and Hermione was crying, struggling harder than ever not because she was afraid, but because she could not stop until Voldemort was dead. The world the world was depending on her - the Dementor's eyeless face was visible beneath its hood - she must get free, she _must _keep fighting -

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The Dementor was flung off of Hermione even as its awful face latched itself to hers. There was the briefest moment of pain from somewhere deep in her chest and she collapsed to the ground, shaking retching but miraculously unharmed. Ron caught her as she fell and they both looked around for their savior, blank shock in their faces; for each of them had recognized the voice but neither had dared to believe -

"GINNY!" Ron roared.

Her hair flew behind her as she ran, as red as the blood that coated the side of her face, but she either had not noticed the injury or simply did not allow it to stop her. Taking time only to toss Ron and Hermione their wands as she raced past, Ginny had but one target: Voldemort. Hermione saw his eyes widen, his wand arm hesitate for the tiniest moment while shock made him slow, and then she saw Ginny's gaze shift at the last moment towards a new focus. She changed directions, dodging Voldemort's spell which left a scorch mark on the wall behind her, and raised her wand at the great snake.

Whatever spell Ginny had shouted was lost under Voldemort's roar of fury. An instant later she was blasted away, bouncing horribly against the ground until she skidded to a halt thirty feet away. But it was too late. An immense orange something had taken flight from the tip of Ginny's wand, enveloped the snake, then flickered and died just as quickly as it had come. And then Voldemort was screaming, and the great snake was charred and dying, and something like liquid fire was flowing from the tip of Ginny's discarded wand.

Hermione knew what it was a moment before it began to take shape; hadn't she read book after book on it when they were hunting Horcruxes, hadn't it nearly killed her the last time she had set foot within Hogwarts?

"Ron - Ron, run! NOW!"

"_Where the bloody hell did she learn that?_"

The Fiendfyre was rising, shooting from Ginny's wand like out-of-control fireworks. Ron and Hermione struggled to their feet, but the room was already filled with a haze of smoke, and the shapes of ferocious, fiery monsters were shooting across the hall. Lions and dragons and chimeras roared and spat flames, powerful and inescapable.

Ron and Hermione were left largely alone, but only because the Great Hall was filled with so many easier kills. The beasts were diving at the students, who could make no effort to protect themselves, swallowed horribly by flames. Voldemort had forgotten them completely. He now stood with his arms raised against the blaze, trying to protect the souls he so desperately needed. But even he could not stop the fire, only keep it at bay; the monsters still threw themselves against his shields, intent apon murder.

And then realization struck Hermione like a fatal blow. This was Ginny's intention. Perhaps it had been all along. To murder them all, so that Voldemort could not have them. The Dark Lord's charge would die in the flames, and surely he himself would perish too, as well as his final Horcrux, the snake. But Hermione could not believe the cost by which this "victory" could be attained. Ginny was willing to kill one thousand Hogwarts students, all of her friends and family, herself. The horror of it all was consuming, devastating. Ginny had improved so much over the past few weeks. Now Hermione was no longer sure if she had ever truly regained her sanity.

Hermione forced herself to keep moving, to ignore the revelation. Now she was fuelled only by her desire to survive. She searched frantically for an exit, pushing all of her shock and fear and hurt to the back of her head. The door was all the way on the other side of the room, covered in flames; Hermione knew they could never make it. There had to be another way. She was not dead just yet. But neither could she afford to think twice.

"The window, Ron, the broken window!" She coughed, dragging him towards the hole in the wall from which smoke was now billowing. But Ron would not move.

"Ginny!" He called desperately. "GINNY!"

"Ron, we have to - Ron, please, we'll find her - "

"GINNY!"

"WE'LL DIE, RON! JUST MOVE!"

Her shout was like a catalyst. Ron looked at her with a fierce, terrible expression in his eyes that she had never seen before. He kissed her suddenly and with alarming roughness, and then grabbed her arm and ran.

They sprinted as quickly as they could, but a wall of flame dove at them from above in the form of a chimaera, swallowing up their path in a wave of fire. Ron and Hermione skidded to a halt only just in time and ran in the opposite direction, pursued at their heels by the living blaze.

More monsters joined the chase, and the Great Hall became a deadly maze. The smoke was so thick and the flames so close that they could no longer tell where they were, let alone find a way out. Hermione conjured a Shield Charm in desperation, but the way the magical flames thudded persistently against the thin shell told her that she had only bought them time. She clutched at Ron without even realizing it, using his support to keep her knees from giving way. All around them there was nothing but fire, and she could not keep the spell up for much longer. The smoke was so heavy, their task so great. She could not breathe.

Now the world was blurry, and a darkness rimmed the edge of Hermione's vision. She thought she saw silhouettes dancing in the flames, laughing people she knew not to be real. But it was so much easier to pretend otherwise . . . they were more tangible than anyone else, even Ron, whose arms she could no longer feel around her as all sensation faded away. The specters beckoned to her, oddly comforting, and she found herself smiling at their touch. Hermione saw her parents, surrounded by an inferno, as they presented her with a mysterious letter; she and Viktor Krum waltzed at the Yule Ball; Harry smiled, well and alive. Ron told her he loved her, swallowed up an instant later by the maw of a fiery snake.

How nice . . .

Ginny was running at them with her arms over her head. But . . . this mirage was not fading into the haze, like the rest did . . . it was her, she was real; the true Ginny that had miraculously escaped from the heart of the fire . . . and now she grasped the two of them as if they were the only things that could save her . . . Hermione did not mind her delusion . . . for what else could possibly rescue them now?

Hermione felt their arms encircle her, and then the red and the gold and Ron's soot-stained face all faded to black.


	16. The Broken Girl

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 16 | The Broken Girl**

* * *

><p><em>Ginny Weasley's mind had fractured.<em>

_At least, that's what they kept telling her._

_She heard them talking at night, while they thought she was sleeping. The words changed from night to night, but to her it was always the same. She remembered when their laughter used to ring in the night; but not any more. That was ages ago, a time passed long before she stopped joining them in the evenings. Hard times had brought a chill silence that blanketed their home like heavy snow. No one laughed anymore. Just talk of battle and of death and of sadness. She wept to hear their voices so weary._

_The first few weeks after Harry's death were confusing, blurry. She did not understand most of what was happening. Things that she had taken for granted every day were now whirring and complex and unexplainable. Her world was changing around her, and she could do nothing but sit and watch and try to comprehend. There was so little she understood anymore._

_It was during these sleepless nights that she took to sitting at the bottom of the staircase hand listening to her family talk. She didn't like the eavesdropping, but it had become her only option. She wanted to know what was going on, and had tired of asking them. Each time she had attempted to speak with them she had been greeted with a halfhearted smile and a "Don't you worry yourself." or a "Why don't you go back to your room, love." They were behaving like strangers. She didn't understand. It made her angry. There are holes in her memory, edged with rage and fire, during which she threw fits and couldn't remember them later. All she knew was that after each gap her family drifted further away from her._

_So she eavesdropped, and that's when she heard it. That word. Sick. They threw it around at first, worried, not daring to use stronger terms during the first few weeks. But as time passed they grew more comfortable with them. Mad. Insane. Disturbed. She heard everyone, her parents and her brothers, use them all. They cut into her like a knife. They were lying, She was fine._

_They thought that she stayed in her bedroom for days at a time, too afraid to leave, like some princess locked away in her tower. This was not true. She did not remain because she was afraid of leaving. She was afraid of them. Their stares, their glassy smiles, their comforting lies. She still loved them, but she also feared them at the same time. So she would stay safe in her room while they were awake. But at night, when they were wrapped up in their dreams and could not harm her, she left._

_With the Resurrection Stone curled in her palm, she and Harry spent the nights together. They walked, mostly, travelling for miles in any direction they pleased. There was no one to tell them to turn back, be quiet, stay still. It was just her and Harry and the watery sun rising in the east._

_She waited endlessly for these chances to speak to him. Harry always knew just what to say; he could calm her on one of her bad days, quiet her during a fit, make her smile when she was lonely. Having Harry there made the pain dull, the world clearer than it had been in a long while. Slowly, she stopped throwing tantrums and started leaving her room. He encouraged her to speak with her family once more as if everything were all right, and as time went on they began to return the favor. It was as close to normalcy as she could possibly get._

_Harry's presence filled her with a warm hum, which cast out the confusion and left her fresh and new. But hers was a heavy sort of happiness. The weight of it could pull her down, down through the dirt and the grass, and she would be swallowed up by darkness. When he walked alongside her, she believed that he was alive and herself was healed; she thought more clearly, the world made more sense. But she knew deep down that Harry was truly dead. And it was that burden which weighed apon her chest, pressing her into the earth. _

_She could not make sense of this. Her heart told her one thing, and her mind another. Was Harry dead or alive? Was he here with her or gone forever? There were times when she could not tell. And she was lost in the nightmare of her own creation. _

_This is what drove Ginny Weasley insane._

The beasts were made of fire, and the fire was in her, replacing all blood, bone, and brain until she was no better than them, nothing but a monster - and then Ginny screamed, to shake herself, and her mind cleared somewhat. The fire was not within her, not yet, but it would be if she did not move faster. The flames licked her heels as she ran. The world was an inferno, and she was deep within its heart.

Then there was a shout, a voice Ginny recognized - a figure was visible through the smoke for a split second - and she changed direction, skidding on the flagstones, racing towards Hermione as the girl raised a shaking hand -

Ginny dove and the Shield Charm closed just behind her, sealing her, Ron, and Hermione in a circle of relative protection. She ran to join the other two in the center, but the smoke clouded her head and slowed her body; Ginny moved as if weights were shackled to her limbs. She wrapped her tired arms around Ron and Hermione, ready to collapse, they accepted her without hesitation. She took this to be a sign of forgiveness. _Ron and Hermione love me._ Ginny thought. _I had to do it. They understand. _

Ginny felt Hermione slipping in her grasp, slouching to the ground with her eyes half-closed. Ron was shouting at her, his face stained with soot. Tear tracks wove lines of pearls into the black. The shield charms were breaking, and the flames were getting closer, and they were so desperate. They were trapped animals, scared and alone.

Ginny watched them, thinking that it made perfect sense to be sad or afraid or angry . . . and yet she felt nothing, nothing at all. Her survival instincts were thundering at full force, adrenaline pumping through her veins, eyes searching for a way out of the blaze, and yet her mind was clear and empty of all emotion. She did not regret her decision. She was willing to die and drag Voldemort down with her. She didn't wish for anyone else to die, and yet she understood that it was necessary. But why was she so ready to accept oblivion as it drew nearer? Why was she so cold, when flames surrounded her?

The answer came to Ginny's lips as readily as if she had known it all along.

"It's because you're already dead."

"ENOUGH!"

A second voice screamed, one that was high, cold, and clear; and there was a noise like a cannon blast that knocked the wind from Ginny's lungs - and it did not return. She dropped to her knees, gasping for breath, but there seemed to be no air left to inhale. All around her the fiery beasts were flickering and dying as quickly as they had sprung into being, and Ginny was falling though space, stars dancing before her eyes -

There was another _bang _even louder than the first, and Ginny drew a desperate, gasping breath, falling to her hands and knees. For a moment there was nothing but the in, the out, the steady gift of breathing. Then she raised her head, ever so slowly. She opened her wide eyes only to see no change; everything was black. For one moment Ginny was sure she was surrounded by darkness, within the belly of the beast, and she cried out - but a closer look revealed that the darkness had form and texture. The stone walls had been burnt dark as night, and ash covered the floor like a midnight sea. The moonlight filtering through the smoky air seemed shine red and unhealthy.

Voldemort was screaming furiously, but the words were all the same, not directed at her specifically. Ron was shouting her name; perhaps they believed her to be dead. Ginny could have stood taller, announced her presence and faced Voldemort once more, but someone other than Ron was calling her . . . he could wait, she thought; and she turned to answer, but no living person stood behind her. There was only another ashy mound, somehow different from the rest. It took Ginny a moment to pick out the shapes amidst the black dust, and when she did, she could not tear her eyes away.

The charred remains of dozens of students were arranged in a line, as they had died where they stood; powerless and unaware. They had been the unlucky ones, at the back of the line; Voldemort's Shield Charm had not reached them in time. Ginny approached them, passing their misty-eyed comrades, who though still standing seemed as lifeless to her as the bodies on the ground. Her sense of urgency was all but forgotten; curiosity had wiped her mind clean of worry. Ginny stooped to examine the corpse of a small girl. Her burned and bloody face gazed unblinkingly up at her, and Ginny felt compelled to stare back. She had played this game before with her brothers . . . if she blinked then she would lose . . .

Unconsciously Ginny's hand reached out to grasp the girl's, stiff at her sides, her fingers brittle and rigid. No thrill of horror accompanied the touch. She wondered blankly if this was the girl who had spoken her name.

"Why didn't you save yourself?" She asked the girl.

Ginny was not sure if she had expected the girl to answer, the burned face move and the stiff fingers grip her own at the sound of a human voice. If her response would have stirred some iota of feeling within herself, Ginny did not know. But still there was nothing behind those eyes; and Ginny spoke flatly, without the slightest trace of emotion in her tone.

"I don't think you understood. You didn't have to die. Only him. He needed you, so he could do bad things to you, but if he was dead then he wouldn't want you any more. And then you needn't have died. But he's still . . . " The words stuck in her throat.

Ginny looked up at the man she had failed to kill. Now he was torturing Hermione, by the sound of her screams, and Ron was struggling against invisible bonds to reach her. Their words seemed to echo in her head; all meaning lost. Ginny did not mind. She wanted to stay with her new friend, who was quieter than Hermione, more still than Ron. She looked down at the girl again.

"I killed you, didn't I?" Ginny whispered. The words tumbled from her mouth without warning. A crease appeared between her brows. "Didn't I?"

Funny. Ginny didn't remember doing it. She didn't remember pointing her wand at this girl, aiming slowly and deliberately, ignoring her pleas for mercy. She didn't remember saying the curse, watching the face go slack and the body fall to the ground, laughing feverishly as she saw the light leave those fearful wide eyes -

Ginny screamed, Voldemort's head whipped around, and the spell hit her so quickly and with such force that for several moments all she saw was red. He was speaking again, and this time she had no choice but to listen; to allow each and every syllable to reverberate in her skull with agonizing force. The words had no meaning other than pain.

Then he raised his wand, the gleam in his eyes like silver daggers. Ginny saw the mouth move and she closed her eyes from the pain of the noise, but death did not come as she expected it. Instead a brilliant light shone from an unknown source, glowing red through her eyelids, and a noise like a train wreck echoed through the hall. When she dared open her eyes, a scene of utter chaos lay before them. Part of the wall had been blasted away, and there amidst the rubble was Ginny's mother, father, brothers, and countless more. They stormed the hall, yelling, and met the Death Eaters that remained within like a wall of force. More and more fighters were filling the charred hall, friends and enemies alike, and the great room was alight with spells and shouts.

Voldemort could not focus on her, Ron, or Hermione; he was torn between them and his students, whom he was forced to protect from the barrage of spells that were flying everywhere. His eyes were also on the potion, which stood simmering and vulnerable at the front of the room. Voldemort drew back.

"No! I will not kill you now. You do not deserve that mercy." He said to them. "I will devise something much more . . . _displeasurable_ for you." The ice in his tone made Ginny's skin crawl.

A burst of fire shot from the tip of his wand, which struck the charred ground and moved weirdly, as if it had a mind of its own. Ginny shrieked, seeing for a moment beasts emerging from the blaze, but the flames did not move towards her; rather, around her, Ron, and Hermione in a perfect circle. They were nothing more than a barrier, which separated her from her screaming mother and father, whose efforts to break though had little effect.

Ginny turned towards Voldemort and ran at him, eager to fight, to kill - but as she moved several things happened at once. Voldemort turned on the spot and vanished, moving his wand as he did; and three figures appeared in his place, silhouetted black against the flames. Ginny skidded to a halt. She watched them cautiously, aware that Ron and Hermione were moving closer to her. The three newcomers turned where they stood, alarmed; Ginny thought she recognized their shouts from somewhere - but then Voldemort's voice sounded, unnaturally loud, drowning them out.

"_Imperio."_

The figures ceased shouting immediately, unnaturally. There was something off in the way they moved, still and calm, and in the way the fire glinted in their empty eyes. Ginny could feel it; they weren't right, they were broken, they were suffocating her with hands of steel -

The silhouettes stepped towards Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in an identical movement, and their faces were thrown into relief in the harsh light of the flames.

"NO!" Ron shouted. "STOP!"

But Neville, Dean, and Luna did not stop. They continued their slow approach, limbs moving mechanically, glassy eyes staring. Hermione was crying, calling their names; but Ginny knew it would never succeed. Simultaneously, the three raised their wands, and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had no choice but to mirror their movements.

Luna's spell shot at Ginny, and she ducked beneath it without even thinking. Vaguely she was aware that Dean had targeted Hermione, and Neville attacked Ron, but she could not pay them much attention. Luna was pushing her up against the flames under a barrage of spells and curses. All the while her face remained slack, dead, emotionless.

Like Ginny.

She tried not to think about that.

On the edges of her vision Ginny saw Ron and Hermione, dueling defensively, shouting at the friends who could not hear them. They struggled to stun while their opponents aimed to kill. Ginny did not understand why they did so. Couldn't Ron and Hermione see? A curse whizzed past Ginny's ear, and she returned it without hesitation. These were not their friends. They were bodies, nothing more.

Ginny looked into the face that had once been Luna's, illuminated with the lights of battle, and found her mind drifting away from the Great Hall. While her body battled on as if in a trance, Ginny floated closer and closer towards those dull, reflective eyes, until they had swallowed her whole.

Ginny was not altogether conscious of it happening. She had transitioned smoothly away from the battlefield, the shouts and the bangs dull in her ears, until she had faded imperceptibly to dust. She was lost in a memory; a dream of that day when Luna, the real Luna, had come up to her room and told her she was brave. Then the recollection went hazy . . . she knew she was angry about something . . . and then quite suddenly she was sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by utter destruction. She was ready to forget, as she always had; but something was different that day. When she looked into Luna's eyes, Ginny had known somehow that the damage was her own doing. And that truth scared her more than anything.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Ginny screamed, without warning. The spell shot past its target, who dodged it easily. Those eyes stared back at her with none of the warmth and kindness that Luna's had . . . she wanted to look away, but they drew her up like a dangerous current. Ginny could not resist . . . she was being pulled closer and closer . . . she had no choice but to give in . . .

"GINNY! STOP! GODDAMN IT, GINNY!"

Rough hands pulled her from her knees, and she was fighting against them without really understanding why. Ginny cried out in confusion; she did not know where she was, what she was doing - her wide eyes darted about, trying to make sense of what was happening to her, but the colors were too bright, the sounds too loud, and she could make sense of nothing.

"Luna, Luna, please wake up! Please be all right. _Luna_ . . . !" A voice sobbed, somewhere nearby.

Ginny forced her eyes to open, and information inundated her all at once. It was Ron's arms that restrained her, Hermione's voice that was crying. Luna lay at their feet, motionless in a pool of blood. Her face had been clawed, bitten, and bruised to the point that she was scarcely recognizable.

"Please, Luna . . . please!" Hermione sounded near hysterics.

Ginny blinked sluggishly. Then, ever so slowly, she willed her eyes to move downwards, to focus, to accept whatever they saw as whole and real. Two hands were raised in front of her; Ginny's own, stained and dripping. A metallic taste flooded her mouth, and when she spat, it was red.

"What have you done?" Ron murmured, more to himself than to her. "What have you done?"

Ginny tried to scream, but no sound could be forced from her lips, trembling and slick with blood. She wanted to run, to sink beneath her delusions as she always did, to succumb to her insanity when the real world became a nightmare. It was so much easier. Ginny shut her eyes tightly, waiting desperately for reality to fade away like a song on the wind . . . but the shouts of battle did not dull in her ears. Hermione's crying reached a hysterical pitch, and Ron's arms pressed more tightly around her. Ginny let loose a whimper. She did not want to stay here, she did not want to live with what she had done to Luna - Luna, her friend, who had told her she was brave -

"NO!"

Ginny's anguished wail finally tore from her lips. In one swift moment she had freed herself from Ron's grasp and thrown herself to the floor at Luna's side. Ron and Hermione both leapt forward to pull Ginny away, convinced she was about to do more damage, but other than to fight against them she paid them no attention. Ginny's eyes were locked on Luna.

"Luna - let me go - please! I'm sorry, Luna - stop it - Luna, no, please - I'm sorry!" Tears were pouring from Ginny's eyes; her words came out as racking sobs. She felt the hands on her wrists slacken. "Please, Luna - don't - don't go, Luna, you can't! I need you - Luna_, I'm sorry - _I didn't mean it - let _go!"_

Ron and Hermione made no effort to recapture Ginny as she tore herself from their grasp and collapsed at Luna's head. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Feeling, hot and raw, coursed through her veins, and now that it had returned she wished it would go. She wished to be steel, fire, ice. Anything but human. Anything.

It was a long time before Ginny realized that she was speaking. She knew on some fundamental level that it was in fact words and sentences that were pouring from her mouth, but to her ears they were nothing but a tangle of letters. They formed nothing coherent, nothing profound. Complex and confusing, they blurred and ran together into a spiky mass. They cut and burned as they left her mouth, ripping her throat raw and bloody. Ginny's own words had no meaning even to the girl herself, nothing did anymore; her world had shattered, and everything was crumbling around her. All she knew was the pain and the sadness, the terrible sadness, the guilt; the feelings, all rushing back to her with the force of a speeding train. She wished it would end. All of it. Now -

Luna's chest expanded suddenly; she groaned and stirred feebly, her eyes closed but life definitely, inexplicably within her.

It was as if Luna's breath had blown air into Ginny's lungs as well.

"She's - you're alive, I didn't - I haven't - _Luna - !_"

But words failed Ginny once more; and this time it was her happiness that was to great to be expressed. Ron and Hermione were there beside her, holding Luna's hands, healing her wounds with their wands. All of them were laughing and crying and lost in their happiness. Nothing could touch them then. For one glorious, shining moment, Ginny felt them all being lifted above the battle, the death and destruction; up though the blackened ceiling of the Great Hall; up higher than the tallest tower; and higher stull until they burst through the clouds, where warm sunlight poured on their faces, and the horrors of the world they had left behind were all but forgotten.

Slowly, gingerly, they pulled Luna into a sitting position. Her unconsciousness seemed to have released her from Voldemort's power; however, the curse's effects still seemed to linger a little in the way she clutched herself, eyeing them all as if they were about to attack. But their glowing, tear-stained faces beaming down at her helped to jog her memory. In a moment she was laughing with them.

There was something undeniably different in the air, something that had not been there a moment ago. Now that Luna was well something had changed. Ginny wondered what, vaguely, between smiles; and then she realized, plainly, simply. It was hope. For the first time since Harry died, they had hope.

Their golden bubble lasted only a minute. The battle still raged on all sides, and the flames still stood tall, a terrible barrier which separated them from war. They could not ignore it forever.

"C-come on." Hermione said, wiping her eyes. "We've got to go. We've got to stop him."

"Can you get us out of here?" said Luna, who looked slightly confused as she stared around. "How did we - "

"We'll explain later, Luna. Right now, let's just focus on leaving." Ron said comfortingly.

Hermione had both of her arms raised towards the flames, muttering to herself with a look of almost pained concentration on her face.

Ginny tilted her head. "You look like Percy when he's studying." She said placidly.

Hermione looked worriedly at her for a split second, then returned her gaze to the fire and spoke a bit louder. Ginny shrank back. She could tell what Hermione was thinking. Luna may be all right, but that didn't change the fact that Ginny had attacked her.

A gap suddenly opened in the flames, like the jaws of a beast. Images flashed through Ginny's mind, of fiery monsters and screaming and death. When Hermione yelled for then to pass through, she hesitated. But then Ron's hands were at her shoulders, and without warning he hurried her, screaming, through the gap. For a moment the world spun in flames, and vaguely Ginny was aware of Ron, shaking her, yelling words that did not make sense. Slowly, the earth slowed to a grinding halt. She pushed Ron away and drew into herself. The flames had marked the gates to hell, a haze of war and smoke and fear.

Fighters clashed all around them, filling the hall, spells illuminating their brutal faces like savage masks. George circled Goyle, firing hexes with his teeth bared; Andromeda was dueling Macnair, who shot Killing Curse after Killing Curse jetting past her head; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood back to back with their hands intertwined, entirely surrounded by Death Eaters. Minerva McGonagall stood beneath the shattered window at the head of the hall, fighting Travers, Macnair, and Dolohov all at once, with ferocity unlike anything Ginny had ever seen. Her bun had come undone and her teeth were bared in a vicious snarl; the force of her spells were cracking the ashen stone at their feet. But - the cauldron - it had been there before, right where McGonagall now stood -

Ginny cried out in alarm, turning to the others, but they seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion she had. They turned on the spot, scanning the churning hall, but Voldemort, the cauldron, and the Imperiused students were nowhere among the churning sea of soldiers.

"Where did they - " Ron began, Luna forced him suddenly to the side; a spell whizzed past him, missing his shoulder by inches. The four of them drew close to one another, wands raised in defense.

"They aren't here! They've gone!" Hermione cried over the chaos, stopping the Killing Curse of a masked Death Eater, "We've - got - to - get - out - of - here!" She punctuated each word with a Stunning Spell; the man collapsed under their combined force.

There was no time to hesitate, to deny the inevitable truth; Voldemort had disappeared. And so they ran, doubled over, towards the hole that had been blasted in the side of the hall. Curses flew past them from every direction, and they sent back their own into the darkness, but they fought blindly, unable to afford hesitation. What precious little time remained was slipping slowly away.

A rush of cool night air greeted them as they dashed through the jagged gap in the wall. Ginny sighed; the wind and openness was a welcome change from the crowded, smoke-filled castle. Though fighters were still scattered about the lawn, most had moved inside already, and none were near enough to notice the four as they huddled close to one another, hidden amongst rubble and shadow.

But it was only three of them who were truly listening. While Ron, Hermione, and Luna spoke in low, urgent tones, Ginny had taken a step back without them realizing.

"He's got to be somewhere on the grounds, he can'tve gone far - " Hermione began.

"There are people fighting everywhere, though, he has to be someplace hidden - " said Luna.

"The Forbidden Forest?" Ron suggested.

"It'd take ages to search the whole thing, though, how could we possibly . . . "

Ginny leaned against the cold stones of the castle wall, which soothed the many burns on her back. She closed her eyes, allowing the words to float over her like honey, senseless as they always were when she did not want to listen, as it was so easy to make them. Somehow she knew that this wasn't going to get them anywhere. Voldemort was gone, the potion was nearly ready, and the souls of one thousand living and one thousand dead would be gone in an hour or more. Ginny scrunched up her eyes, stopping tears from flowing. They couldn't do this by themselves. They needed help.

_Help._

Slowly, dreamlike, Ginny's fingers moved into the pocket of her robes. She felt gingerly for the curve of the cool metal, the rough carvings of the black stone, and let out a sigh of relief when she found them there, real and tangible. All this time, he had been so close . . . how could she have forgotten? Her eyes still shut tight, Ginny turned the Resurrection Stone three times in her hand.

"Harry," Ginny breathed, even before seeing him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Ginny opened her eyes and he was there, Harry, shifting his weight on the grass before her. She never thought she could miss the sight of a person more. His glasses were knocked askew, his hair untidy as ever, his eyes just as green as they had been in life. Harry reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and she swore she could feel him, a breath on the wind.

"I haven't seen you in ages." Ginny whispered. "I should have - should have talked to you more - "

"No, no, Ginny, it's good that you didn't need me." Harry said comfortingly. "I want you to move on, I want you to get better, and you do too, don't you?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The fervor of planning and the urgency of finding and killing Voldemort had all but driven the thought of Harry's departure from Ginny's mind. Now it was all she could do not to burst into tears.

"We need help." She said, a bit louder.

"You need to find him?"

"We can't search the whole castle, and we're not even sure - "

"He's here." Harry said. "I can feel him."

Ginny blinked.

"You can?"

Ron, Hermione, and Luna had noticed her now, talking to no one. They had broken off from their conversation and were looking at her with puzzled expressions, listening curiously. Harry looked back at them, and though they could not see, and a pained look flashed across his face - but it did not dissipate.

"He's - Voldemort's finished with the students . . . now he's starting on the dead."

Ginny's eyes widened. "He isn't - you aren't - "

"I'm not sure how much control he has over which souls he calls back, which one he uses, but - " Harry stopped, genuine hurt in his expression. "I just - I can feel it. I'm going. It's slow, but I won't be here in an hour."

"Harry - Harry, _no - !"_

His eyes were like lights, glinting in the darkness, shining so brightly into her own, trapping her still and helpless in their beam. They seemed to stare into her very soul, stripping her of skin and muscle and bone, until she was raw and bare. Ginny did not want Harry to go, he was the only thing keeping her here; she feared she would float away without him, without his hand on her ankles, keeping her connected, by however thin a thread, to earth. He could see into her, with those terrible, gleaming eyes, in a way that no one else could. They had been dimmer before, Ginny could ignore them if she wanted to; but now they shone bright and intimate, and she was overwhelmed by the truth she saw in them. She saw what would happen if Harry left, if he was killed. What would become of her. She rejected it immediately and without hesitation.

"No - you're _wrong,_ Harry, I _won't_ b-be fine - !"

"Ginny, I think you need to calm down a bit . . . " began Hermione timidly, but Ginny paid her no attention; she could feel tears in her eyes.

She was being invaded, her mind no longer the sanctum it always had been, a place she could retreat to when reality became unbearable -

"Ginny!" Harry said. His hands hovered an hair's breadth above her shoulders, which he could not touch. "Ginny, listen to me! I'm going to be fine, you hear me! We're going to find Voldemort, and stop him before anyone else has to die. All right?"

She made an effort to control herself. "C-can you tell us where he is?" Ginny gulped.

Harry looked into her eyes for a moment, his own glimmering still, but this time it was only the starlight. He nodded.

"Up high somewhere, near here. I can feel it pulling me. Search the upper floors."

"It could take hours."

"Well, we haven't got that kind of time, so we're going to have to make the best of this. Don't worry. I'll help you." He gave a weak smile, one Ginny did not return.

"The first and second floors are bound to be full of people fighting. It'll take us ages to get upstairs." She said.

Harry frowned as he thought. His eyes drifted sideways, over her shoulder, and then they widened. Ginny turned around to see the Quidditch pitch in the distance, colorful hangings removed so that its framework showed like a wooden skeleton.

_To the sky,_ Ginny thought. She turned back to Harry, who met her gaze with fire in his eyes.

"Ginny." He said, confident and strong. "We can do this."

Ginny's mouth opened a fraction of an inch as she gazed at him for what she hoped with all her heart would not be the last time. He seemed so real to her in that moment; she reached up to touch his face, but her fingers sunk through his starlit flesh and she drew them away. Then her eyes shifted past him, though him, and his glimmering body faded into dust. The Resurrection Stone returned to her pocket, where she would not have to face the pained look in Harry's eyes. Ginny turned her towards the other three, but her gaze drifted past them as well, following Harry up and up and up.

"I know what we have to do." she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello everyone! I have to apologize for the long wait. This chapter was originally supposed to have a LOT more included in it, but Ginny's point of view gave me the excuse to get so deliciously detailed that I decided to split it into two. That will also be coming a bit sooner that usual, as I have a lot of it written down already. So, if you enjoyed <em>The Broken Girl, <em>I'm sure you'll like the next chapter even more. It's all coming to a close very soon, and with that in mind I'd like to thank all of you for being so supportive and patient. Especially patient. Takes a lot of that to read fanfiction from me.**


	17. One Long Year of Mourning

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 17 | One Long Year of Mourning**

* * *

><p>Ginny explained as they ran, dodging past the fighters both dueling and defeated, the wooden skeleton of the Quidditch pitch growing steadily closer. Most of the battle had moved indoors by now; apart from the occasional spell that shot over their heads, the four were left alone save for the little bundles that seemed to litter the grounds. Ginny did not want to look at them, to recognize a pair of glassy eyes staring up at the starry sky above.<p>

But she found it difficult not to pay them any attention. It was as if they called to her, moving on the edges of her vision, only to lie still again when she whipped her head around to look. Though the Resurrection Stone sat cold and untouched in her front pocket, Ginny could see their ghosts seeping out of their mouths like hot breath on an icy day. Frightened and panting, she forced herself to stare straight ahead. In her frantic pace she had soon outstripped the others, and arrived at the pitch first. She flattened herself against the door to the broom cupboard and breathed deeply, eyes closed. It was a moment before she remembered her wand.

"Alohomora." She whispered, pointing it at the heavy lock; the door swung open with a creak.

"Ginny - excellent - " Ron puffed, breathless; he, Hermione, and Luna had caught up, thoroughly winded and clutching stitches in their sides. All four of them grabbed brooms without another word.

Ginny went straight for the Cleansweep Five. It hummed at her touch, waiting eagerly to burst into flight. She had learned to fly on one of these, nicked from Fred or George when they weren't home. They listed a bit to the right and couldn't corner nearly as well as some of the more modern makes, but the old thing with its bent twigs and mottled handle brought back a rush of memories. She could see the orchard, feel the wind in her hair, hear shouts of laughter echoing over the years.

They kicked off and soared into the air, and just like that Ginny's worries seemed to melt away. She could not forget the task at hand; she did not believe anything at this point could distract her enough, but Merlin, she'd missed this. Ginny was feather-light, soaring, truly and wholly free for the first time in over a year. The higher she climbed, the happier she felt.

There was an enormous bang and Ginny lurched on her broom. A fast-approaching window had been blasted open by some unknown spell, showering the fighters below in a hail of stained glass. In looking down Ginny realized that she was flying far higher than her companions. She dipped into a controlled dive, laughing at the sting of the wind on her face, and soared through the smashed window behind them.

"Right," Hermione said as they dismounted their brooms, stowing her wand in her pocket. "Let's go. He could be anywhere up here."

"Should we split off?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked torn. "I know it's a lot to cover in such little time - but Ron, what if one of us finds him, before the rest of us can get there, and he - he - "

"We'll stay close by." said Luna reassuringly. "Always within earshot."

The others nodded worriedly.

"Ready?" asked Hermione, her voice shaking slightly.

"Definitely." Ron answered. He took her hand in his, squeezed it tight. She smiled weakly. "You two go ahead for a minute. I just . . ."

Hermione's smile faded; she followed Ron's gaze over her own shoulder, into Ginny's eyes, wide and dark. She looked back at him.

"We won't go far." She whispered.

Ron planted a kiss on her forehead, which she accepted with her eyes cast downwards. Ginny watched her linger, dawdling when she should be urgent, looking back when she should be hurrying forward. She watched Ron's eyes follow her and Luna until they turned the corridor, watched him draw into himself the moment she was no longer visible. Ginny was struck by the cord that had been drawn between her brother and Hermione, the line that connected them even when they were apart. It was thin and fraying and threatened by fire, but she found herself envying it nonetheless.

"She loves you." Ginny said quietly.

Ron was silent for a long moment, his eyes still trained on the spot where Hermione had gone.

"We're getting married." He said.

"That's wonderful."

He turned towards her then, face impassive save for his eyes. They were dangerous, full of steel and flint and unanswered questions.

"Where did you learn that spell?" Ron asked quietly.

Ginny could not answer. Now shame and guilt played in the back of her mind, overtaking the urgency that had propelled the four of them to this spot high above the battle. She wanted to look away from Ron, to break eye contact, but found she could not. Though his tone was soft, his gaze was powerful and burning, holding her in place like a deer caught in lights.

"I took one of Hermione's books." She mumbled.

"Yeah, I figured as much, only those don't tell you how to do it. What I want to know is who taught you how to cast that bloody spell."

"It was Kingsley's - Kingsley's friend Branimir. From Croatia. He's an Auror, and . . . since he knew how to do the Unbreakable Vow, I figured . . . he'd know Fiendfyre as well." Ginny swallowed. "So I - I Imperiused him, and I made him - "

At the horrified look on Ron's face, Ginny's voice broke. Now the guilt was consuming her like fire; she wanted it to be gone, to leave her without feeling as she had been before. She did not want to live with the consequences of her actions. But all the same, there was some quiet conscience in the back of her head, speaking with Harry's voice, that reminded her that it was no longer acceptable to succumb. She could not afford to distance herself from reality now, when there was so much at stake.

So when Ron's eyes softened and he approached to put his arm around his sniffling sister, she pulled back, though she wanted desperately to loose herself in his embrace. Ginny forced herself to continue on in a voice that was strained but clear.

"I Imperiused him and I made him show me how to do it. It was wrong and I know I shouldn't have and I'm sorry." Ginny added with a hint of pleading in her voice. Ron did not respond, and she looked down. "I didn't think anyone would understand. I wasn't in the right state of mind. I'm - I'm still not. I still can't always - " Ginny stopped short, closing her eyes; the world had begun to spin. "I just felt so alone and confused and angry. All the time. And I just couldn't see an end to it - only this big dusty road that went on and on. I was lost. I was lost for a while. I got to thinking that . . . well, dying wouldn't be so bad if I could end this once and for all. And then pretty - pretty soon that turned into thinking it would be better to take a few people down with me if it meant I saved the rest of them . . . No, please don't speak yet, I know I deserve it, but you'll get your turn - just hear me out!"

Ron had looked as if he were about to speak, to reprimand her; but at Ginny's last sentence, he had stepped back.. Her voice echoed in the dark corridor. She wondered fearfully how she had allowed her tone to become so forceful without her even realizing it. The two met one another's gaze for a moment. Ginny was panting; she was scaring herself. Her eyes were now cast downwards, at her hands, caked with Luna's blood.

"I can't control it all the time. Not completely." She murmured. "I try and I try but nothing's ever really clear."

Ron did not try to speak this time. Ginny was grateful - there were more words she had to say, even if she did not know what they were until the moment they tumbled from her mouth.

"I'm not trying to justify what I've done." Ginny began again, speaking shakily. "I'm not saying that you should forgive me because - because I'm mad, and I know I am. I can't hide it; not from you, not from me. But that doesn't mean I didn't know what I was doing tonight." She looked up at him. "I didn't plan this. I didn't come tonight thinking I'd have to use it. It just - happened. But that doesn't change that I learned the spell, and that I was prepared to use it if I needed to. And - and I did. I did, and I was glad of it. They were the sacrifice, but so was I. You might have been too, but I just didn't care. In my head it just - it just made sense. But . . . it was Luna that changed it. She changed everything. I held her hand, and I looked at her, and - I just knew - "

The red spots high on Ginny's cheekbones betrayed her agitation almost as much as her frantic tone did. Her eyes raked Ron for some sort of hold to latch onto, to keep her from slipping, but he was as slick and expressionless as he had been before.

"She made me realize: I was wrong. Please, please believe, I wish I hadn't more than anything. But I'm done being sick. I killed those people, and it was a whole and conscious decision, and I need to take responsibility for it."

For the first time, Ron spoke, quiet and impassive. "You know that there is no forgiveness here."

"None."

"You can never go back."

"Never."

"You've got to accept the consequences, and live with them for the rest of your life."

"I will." Ginny said. She drew a shaky breath. "When tonight is over, and if we've won and I'm alive and that bastard is cold and dead, you have my word that I will accept the consequences. I will carry them with me until the day I die. And that means . . . " The strongest beams of cedar and steel supported her words: "That means I will die in Azkaban."

Blank shock shone on Ron's face, sudden and discordant after he had worn the expressionless mask for so long. As though he had physically reached up and cast it off himself, now Ginny picked it up and wore it proudly. It was that, her stone-hewn confidence and her unshakable determination, that made her so formidable. While he cycled through disbelief, fear, and finally sorrow, she remained the impassive one. And although beneath the visage she trembled with fear, her decision had been made and there was no changing it.

"Ginny," Ron croaked. "You don't - I mean - are you - ?"

There was a battle going on in Ron's head, and Ginny imagined she could hear it, loud and violent, pounding against his skull. One part of him acknowledged the punishment Ginny deserved, but the other was selfish and afraid; he did not want to see his baby sister imprisoned.

"I'm serious, Ron." She said.

He stood there for a moment, looking as if the ground had just been pulled out from beneath his feet. Nothing was steady anymore, Ginny thought; all of them were falling, and the little bits of their shattered lives were falling with them, and it was all they could do to try and gather up the pieces.

"We should start looking." Ginny said, pulling herself from Ron's grasp.

He looked into her eyes as she did so, but if he noticed the change in them, he did not mention it. The two started down the corridor at a hurried pace, exchanging no more words between them; the castle was hushed and still here, and they were operating in secret. Wands aloft, they ran until they found Hermione. She was emerging from an empty classroom with a worried look on her face. Ginny saw her relax as soon as her eyes fell on Ron.

"Luna's just there," Hermione said, looking towards the circle of wandlight a long ways off. "We haven't checked either of those halls yet, though, if you could to go that way." She pointed to the fork at the end of the corridor, each path branching off into a sightless abyss.

"We won't be far," Ron told Ginny. With a tight squeeze of her hand, Ron turned and left down the dark end of the corridor. Ginny took a deep breath and set off in the opposite direction. The subtle swish of his robes soon faded away, into the haze.

Though Ron, Hermione and Luna never ventured far, there were times when they were nearly gone, hovering on the edges of Ginny's perception. A heavy silence filled the castle in these moments, dark and complete, and their footsteps were no longer distinguishable from the scurrying of rats in the dusty rooms she searched. Ginny fought it at first, imagining demons in the corners, just past her wandlight. But then it became easier to let go, to lose herself in the thick of the night. She extinguished her wand and let the shadows swirl around her, drawing her in, and imagined herself to be alone; save for one. The Resurrection Stone glinted even in the black as Ginny turned it in her hands.

"Ginny, keep going." Harry said. "You have to move. We don't have time."

"I know. I know." she said, already running, her eyes adjusted by now. "Just . . . stay with me."

Harry's presence as they searched was all the light Ginny needed. He was silent at first, but some time after the search began his voice broke the silence, warm and quiet.

"That was very brave of you back there. With Ron." Harry said.

"You were watching?"

"'Course I was. I always am."

Ginny smiled at that. "Always."

There was something in the way Harry paused here, something strange, that made Ginny look back over her shoulder at his ghostly form. Suddenly she understood.

"It's Azkaban, Harry," she said quietly, "Don't tell me I'll have to go it alone."

"They'd confiscate all your possessions right on the spot anyway," said Harry, "Even the ring."

Ginny's palms began to sweat. Somehow she'd convinced herself that prison would not be so terrible with Harry at her side - because he must go there with her, she could not imagine facing something so terrible without him -

"Ginny, please, don't make me do this again," Harry said at once. He had seen the color drain from her face, the white of her knuckles as she tightened her fists. "We - we talked about this. If Voldemort wins tonight, then, well, I'm going anyway whether I want to or not. And if we manage to stop him . . . you promised me you'd stop using the ring."

Ginny could not force herself to respond immediately. "You didn't - you didn't say when, you didn't say tonight - "

"Well, I'm saying it now." Harry raised his voice ever so slightly, and she stopped, shying away. His face softened. "Once the war's over the Order won't need to talk with Dumbledore and me anymore. As soon as there's no other purpose for having the ring around, that's when you have to do it. Throw it into the lake, smash it to bits, anything. You've got to. If you wait too long, it'll only be harder."

"It's . . . it's Azkaban, Harry."

The expression on Harry's face was so pained that Ginny found she had no strength left in her to argue.

"I know. I know, Ginny. I just . . . nothing good can come of keeping me with you. I love you, you know that. But look at these past few weeks; you've been getting better - so, so much better. And you know why that was, don't you?"

He looked at her pleadingly. Ginny's eyes felt weighed down by lead; she could not keep looking into Harry's face. Sliding her gaze to the floor, she nodded almost imperceptibly.

"It's because you stopped seeing me. You told yourself you needed to talk to me and you still did every now and again - but you weren't dependent on my anymore, Ginny! That's what mattered, that's what still matters! You can go on without me and I know you can."

"Even - "

"Even Azkaban!" Harry cried. "I wouldn't leave for a second if I thought you couldn't do it! But you can, Ginny, you can! So what if you won't be able to see me? I'll still be there! I'll be with you every step of the way, whether you know it or not."

His words jogged something in Ginny's memory: the image of her mother, gripping her shoulders, pale in the face.

_"Ginny," she had said. "I don't think you can."_

Ginny remembered this conversation well. It had been the one that decided if she was to fight alongside the rest of the Order during their invasion of Hogwarts - specifically, whether or not she would accompany Ron and Hermione. Her mother's words echoed in her head, and she found herself being pulled away from the dark castle with Harry in the present, back to that golden summer afternoon, one also colored with anxiety and frustration.

_Ginny followed her parents outside, into the heat of the late afternoon sun. The sounds of rustling leaves and twittering birds played in the background; a light wind swept her hair. On an ordinary day Ginny could lose herself in the sensations for hours, but today she had no time for the golden sun or the warm breeze. Ginny was focused entirely on her parents, her eyes darting angrily between them._

_She had long since forgotten the words that had actually been exchanged that day. Like so many of her memories they were merely a haze of tones and feelings, with occasional moments emerging, glaringly sharp, from the fog. The scene was angry, she knew that much, and colored gold. They had shouted each other hoarse until the setting sun had nearly vanished beneath the treeline._

_Then, quite suddenly, a portion of clarity jumped out at her. She remembered this part because Harry had been there._

_It was a momentary lull. They stood there for a moment in the fading sunlight, watching as the shadow of the house lengthened, swallowing them up. The Resurrection Stone glinted in the light, shifting quickly between Ginny's fingers, a nervous habit of hers. Behind her, Harry stood sentinel, silent until now. The light filtered through him strangely; he looked almost as if he were on fire. She looked up at him, all of her arguments exhausted, her eyes pleading for his help._

_"Let me talk to them." Harry said finally; his tone was quiet, his expression unreadable._

_Ginny exhaled a long, trailing breath at these words. She took the Resurrection Stone and placed it in her father's hand, curling her mother's around it as well, so that all three of them held the glimmering ring together. A moment later her parents' eyes suddenly found Harry standing beside them. There was something different in his expression, angrier perhaps, that kept them from speaking first._

_"I think she should go with Ron and Hermione." Harry said._

_Ginny's eyes widened. She had been hoping desperately to hear those words, but had never imagined Harry would actually say them._

_"Harry, I'm not sure you quite understand - she's not - Ginny can't - "_

_"She's not well, I know." Harry said. "I know you're concerned for her safety, and believe me, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I am just as much as you are. I just think . . . keeping her here during the attack might do more harm than good."_

_Two seconds' ringing silence followed these words, in which Ginny and her parents blinked up at him, all of them at a momentary loss for words._

_"How so?" Ginny's father managed after a moment._

_"She's been up in her room for a year, in no fit state to help us - "_

_"But I want to now!" Ginny exclaimed_

_"Exactly," Harry said soothingly, "She's been getting so much better lately. I trust her to be able to keep it together in a dangerous situation like this."_

_"It's not really a matter of whether she can stay calm. There will be people there who will want to kill her, and that's a risk I'm not prepared to take." her father said._

_"I'm of age!" Ginny roared._

_"It's just not safe!"_

_"Please, let me finish!" Harry said a little loudly, "I understand your point, Mr. Weasley, but, well, you haven't been up there with her all this time. You haven't heard what she can be like sometimes."_

_Ginny looked up at Harry, frowning. There was betrayal in those fading green eyes; she could see it there, as cold as ice. Those conversations, the nighttime strolls, were sacred. He couldn't possibly just tell them . . . he wouldn't . . ._

_"Ginny used to have real trouble not speaking exactly what was on her mind. Anything that was bothering her she'd try to put into words, even if they didn't make sense to anyone but her. Usually it was just muttering under her breath. But she'd open up a bit more when we were alone."_

_"Harry, stop it." Ginny whispered. Harry did not seem to have heard her._

_"She'd say things that were - a bit dark, actually, compared to how innocent she tended to be when anyone else was around."_

_"Don't." Ginny moaned._

_"She talked constantly about Voldemort - what he'd done, what she'd learned he might be doing from eavesdropping on Order meetings. She blamed him personally for everything. She was absolutely right to, but again, she also wasn't in the right state of mind at the time either."_

_"Harry, stop it, you shouldn't - can't -"_

_"Ginny, if you want to go with Ron and Hermione, you need to let me continue," Harry said, rounding on her suddenly, "and if you want to get better, eventually you're going to have to start coming clean about everything." The look he gave her was frozen, cold and hard. "And I mean everything."_

_His words shocked Ginny into a stunned silence. She opened and closed her mouth several times, wanting terribly to say something, but Harry's icy glare held her in place. A single tear ran down Ginny's cheek. Her parents were watching with wide eyes, not daring to interrupt. It was a moment before Harry turned back to them._

_"She started saying - "_

_"Let me do it!"_

_Ginny's cry was different this time. It was desperate, but also determined. She and Harry looked at one another again, but this time Ginny stood her ground. Where he was cold, she was fire; where he was dark, she was light. Ginny held his powerful gaze for several moments, refusing point-blank to back down Then he relented with a short nod. As she turned to speak Ginny thought she saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his face._

_"What Harry says is true." she told her parents. "I just got so angry sometimes. And he - You-Know-Who - just - " Ginny swallowed. "I couldn't contain it. I needed to do something. I screamed. I cried. But it wasn't enough. No matter what I did he was still out there, and he was still . . . there, ripping up families and - and making people sleep, and I couldn't do anything to stop him. I knew he killed Harry. I couldn't get over it. And in the sort of state I was in, it started to become . . . "_

_There was darkness rimming the corners of the world. She pressed her hands to her ears, ignoring the hands of her mother as they wrapped comfortingly around her. Ginny could not continue, it was all too confusing, she was slipping, drowning in dark water. She shook her head at Harry, pleading with her eyes for him to continue where she could not._

_" . . . Instead of just blaming Voldemort for killing me," Harry finished, never taking his eyes from Ginny, " she started to think that his death could bring me back."_

_Her mother drew in a great, shuddering gasp; she looked as if she would swell and burst. Her father met her gaze with an expression containing such intense sadness that Ginny found it difficult to keep looking._

_"Ginny, dear, you know that's not true, you can't possibly - "_

_"I don't know!" Ginny howled. "I just don't know anymore!"_

_Her father's eyes seemed to be boring into her own; their sorrow was so unbearable that Ginny could not stand it. She couldn't stand anything. It was too much. So she shut her eyes and let the tide push and pull at her body as it willed._

_"I don't . . . I don't think she'll be able to get better until she lets go of me, you know - until she stops using the Stone. And I don't think she can let go of me until she helps take Voldemort down . . . "_

_Harry's voice seemed to be coming to her from the end of a dark tunnel. Everything was fading around her; his argument, her parents' worried responses, the whispers of sadness that floated on the wind. The sound of rushing water in her ears was drowning everything out._

_" . . . Even if she knows . . . can't really bring me back . . . still could bring her into relapse if she doesn't . . . "_

_Ginny was only dimly aware of the one finger that touched the Resurrection Stone, still warm though the sun had now set. As her vision swam, her grip slackened, and she stumbled back. Harry vanished instantly, her last vestige of sanity on this godforsaken earth, the only thing tethering her to the people she loved. Ginny felt her eyelids drooping, unconsciousness calling like a siren song from far away. The ground seemed to come up to meet her very, very fast. And everything slipped beneath the dark waves._

With great difficulty Ginny forced herself to surface.

What felt like hours had only passed in a moment. Harry's last words had faded and died; now, it seemed, words were beyond either of them. His hand reached up to her face, but as always, a touch was impossible. Ginny looked into his eyes and found she could stare through them, right to the charcoal-gray walls of the stone corridor. He was so fragile, she thought, balanced so precariously between two worlds: the living and the dead. Seeing those sad, faded green eyes was what allowed Ginny to understand. Being here, where he so obviously did not belong, brought him no joy.

"And it doesn't give me any, either." Ginny whispered.

"What?"

"You - when you're here - It doesn't - " It was as if the clouds had parted and a great revelation was there, written gold in the sky. Suddenly, everything was clear. No shock accompanied this self-discovery. Ginny wondered, though she had not realized until this very moment, if she had known it all along. "I don't need you anymore."

Harry's mouth opened in surprise; he searched her, as if he could find the words he was looking for written somewhere on her face. When none came, Ginny went on, feeling as if she were taking her first little steps in a foreign land.

"You've been dead. You've been dead, only I haven't been treating it like that. I thought that the Stone brought you back . . . but it didn't, did it? You've never really, really been back. I just . . . thought you were." Ginny looked pleadingly at him, "So maybe that's what made me sick. I've been pretending. But now - now I know I was wrong. I think I can be alright." Ginny chanced a smile that felt rather alien on her face. "It's just been one long year of mourning, hasn't it? Now . . . I'm ready for it to be over."

Harry did not speak, but Ginny knew somehow that he understood. The silence between them was dark, but it was also full of warmth. After a long while, Harry leaned forward slowly and ever so carefully, placing a kiss on Ginny's forehead. Her eyes closed as he neared, and she imagined songbirds and bells bursting from the place he touched.

* * *

><p><strong>I had this finished last week, only I've been having some computer troubles lately, so bear with me. I'll try and write as much as I can while the laptop allows. Not much further to go now! As always, thanks so much for reading. Your support has been amazing!<strong>


	18. Armistice

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 17 | Armistice**

* * *

><p>Hermione's breathing was quick and heavy; she was running flat-out, her footsteps echoing off the dark walls, all pretense of secrecy abandoned. She could hear the others running as well, out of sight but not out of earshot, each as desperate by now as she was. The four climbed higher and higher, searching the entirety of the fifth and sixth floors. They raced down the corridors of the seventh now, but still there was no sign of life save for the flashes and bangs that echoed up from below.<p>

_He's here. He's in the next room. Just another flight of stairs. One more floor, one more to go . . . ._

Hermione repeated similar things under her breath as she sped down the halls. It was the only way she could keep herself going; for her hope was slowly, surely ebbing away. She was sure he was higher; that Lord Voldemort, lover of grandeur and power, would not chose some derelict classroom for the completion of his master plan. And yet, every room left unchecked was another nagging doubt in the back of Hermione's head: what if she passed him by without even realizing she had done so? Hermione burst into a barren office, held her wand aloft, and in the next moment she was flying down the corridor again. She must not permit herself to think like that. She focused on her mantra; trying desperately to convince herself it was true.

Hermione's own thoughts drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps until they were too close for either of them to stop. Ginny came speeding around the bend, skidding on the stone floor and nearly toppling over Hermione in her haste.

"Ginny - "

"Hermione - sorry - "

"It's all right," Hermione gasped, helping Ginny off the floor.

"Have you gone that way already?" asked Ginny. She pointed at the way Hermione had come.

"Yes. We can go here, though, I don't think Luna's checked those rooms." Hermione looked down the third passageway, which was wider, and from whence the two corridors they had been following had branched off.

"Together, then?" Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded. They set off at a run.

"Is Harry here?" Hermione said, holding her wand aloft. In the gloom, she could not see any glint of gold in Ginny's hands.

"No," she shook her head, "No, he's - look here, let's check this one -"

She had spotted a door, half concealed by a large tapestry that was hanging slightly askew. Ginny attempted to force her way in, only to find the door locked. Immediately Hermione's heat began to pound in her chest. Was this it? Could they have found him?

"_Alohomora!"_ Hermione said shakily; the door flung open to reveal a foot of space and several dusty brooms.

"Next one, then," said Ginny, "Come on - this way."

They turned again and ran. Hermione could still feel a quick thud beneath her rib cage; but Ginny, at her side, showed no trace of fear.

"Ginny," Hermione said as they reached the next door. "You seem . . . very calm."

Ginny looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?'

Hermione flushed. "Every time we open a door I just about give myself a heart attack thinking that You-Know-Who might be right on the other side," she said, "but you don't look like you're afraid, well, at all. It's a bit - _Alohomora - _odd, considering . . ."

But Hermione could not find the breath to finish her sentence; the words seemed to have stuck in her throat. The door swung open with a click to reveal an small room empty save for a lichen-spotted mirror and an overturned cauldron. Hermione allowed herself to sigh with relief. They waved their wands once, so that for an instant the light illuminated all of the dark corners, and then left, leaving the door hanging open behind them.

"Considering what?" Ginny seemed to be trying rather hard to sound indifferent; but even in the darkness Hermione could see her staring fixedly at the ground.

"Well, I heard you before. I think you were talking to Harry, and your voice carried. You sounded distressed."

Ginny looked up at Hermione. "I was," she said, "but not any more."

"Do you know why?"

"Not really." Ginny shook her head. "Everything's so . . . it's just . . . different, I guess. I told Harry that I didn't need him any more - "

Hermione stopped in the middle of unlocking a door and whirled around. "You did?" she cried ecstatically, and wrapped her arms around Ginny without hesitation. "Ginny, that's fantastic!"

"Thanks, Hermione . . . Hermione, we should probably keep going . . . "

"Yes, of course . . . " There were tears in Hermione's eyes. "Of course, I don't know why I . . . " she distracted herself with opening the door and checking the empty room inside, glad for a chance to hide her face.

"So . . . I told Harry that I didn't need him any more," Ginny continued, once they were running again, "and it was like . . . everything changed. I can't explain it. There's no mist, I think, or something. Maybe I'm just . . . at peace."

"Do you think that means you're not sick any more?"

"I don't know what it means."

"Well, I think learning to live without Harry is going to do nothing but good things for you. I know it must have been hard for you but I'm so glad you've taken this step."

Ginny's smile was more like a grimace.

"Have you - have you already done it?" Hermione said in a kinder tone. "You know, gotten rid of the stone?"

To answer, Ginny held up the golden, glittering ring. "No. I won't have to until after the battle. I think we'll need his help. Like I said, he's off searching now."

Hermione nodded in agreement. They fell silent after that, their footsteps swallowed by the great black abyss. Somehow, it seemed lighter now that Hermione knew Harry was somewhere within it, trying just as hard as they were to find Voldemort.

But try as they might, the search continued to yield no results even as time wore on. The corridors they searched soon bled into one; a dizzying maze that seemed to trap them forever in some horrible nightmare. No matter how many rooms they checked, no matter how many steps they ran, they never seemed to be moving anywhere. They ran and ran, covering what must have been the entire seventh floor, until suddenly Ron and Luna appeared out of the darkness, breathing heavily and also unlucky.

"We haven't . . . he's not . . . " Ron huffed, clutching a stitch in his side.

"Same here." Hermione panted.

"It's no good." said Ginny. "We haven't got time- "

She broke off suddenly, staring into the distance.

"Ginny?" Ron frowned. "What are you - ?"

"Harry!" Ginny cried. She sounded suddenly horrified.

"What's wrong?" Luna asked.

But Ginny was beyond words. Hermione followed her line of sight as her eyes moved; as Harry must have approached.

"Is something wrong, Ginny?" Luna repeated, but still Ginny seemed too horrified to speak.

"Ginny, let me see." Hermione said. "Let me see."

She did not wait for a reply, but took Ginny's hand in her own, so that they were intertwined over the ring. At once a ghostly shadow appeared before her . . .

"Oh, god." Hermione whispered.

This was not the Harry she remembered; this was not even the Harry that appeared in the Resurrection Stone. This pale imitation looked sick and tortured, with hollowed cheeks and dull, staring eyes. The skeletal figure was so translucent that it was easy to loose him against the darkness. When Harry opened his mouth, his voice was barely a whisper. His whole being seemed to be fading away.

_"I've . . . found . . . him . . . "_

"Where?" said Hermione urgently. She wanted desperately to know if Harry was all right; to ask, at least, if there was anything she could do to help him. But she bit those replies back. _Priorities, _she reminded herself, and never did she hate herself more for remembering them.

_"Higher . . . "_

"The only thing higher than us are the towers." said Hermione, thinking aloud. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, North, Astronomy . . . Can't be one of the common rooms, could it, he can't get into those . . . can he?"

She looked pleadingly at Harry, but his lips were already fumbling with speech.

_"Under . . . the stars . . . "_

"Under the stars? Harry, the Astronomy tower?"

Slowly, wincing as thought the tiny movement caused him pain, Harry nodded.

"Let's go." She told the others. "Harry - " she said, trying not to think about the next time she might see him, "thank you."

Ron and Luna took off down the corridor towards the Astronomy tower immediately. Hermione made to follow them without hesitation, but Ginny's hand held fast to her own, unmoving. A few paces ahead, Ron and Luna stopped and turned.

"Harry . . . " she whispered sadly, her face entirely broken.

A few weeks ago Hermione would have pitied her. She would have been gentle. But now she whirled around and grasped Ginny by the shoulders, startling the girl's eyes away from Harry.

"Ginny, pull yourself together! Feeling sorry for him or for yourself isn't going to do anything for either of you! We can save Harry! We can save him if we go _NOW!" _

The final word reverberated in the inky black of the silent corridor, echoing down the hall, filling the space with noise. At its sound Ginny broke suddenly into a run, sweeping right through Harry as she went. Hermione looked over her shoulder; Harry he raised one hand in farewell. Then the Resurrection Stone slipped through hers and Ginny's intertwined fingers, and his frail form burst into mist. The glittering ring clattered to the floor before it was swallowed up by darkness.

They ran flat-out, so fast that doors and turns in the corridors seemed to come whizzing at them from the black, only to pass and be swallowed up again an instant later. The search before was nothing; their pace then seemed like a pleasant stroll compared to how quickly they moved now. And yet it was not nearly fast enough, thought Hermione. Harry's gaunt, tortured face seemed burned into her brain. He seemed only minutes from nonexistence. If they could not reach Voldemort in time . . .

"Faster!" Hermione said aloud, and she was so distressed that what she had intended to mutter to herself came out an echoing yell. She felt Ginny's grip on her hand tighten, a pressure which seemed to communicate that all of Hermione's fears were Ginny's as well.

The barreled through the exit of a corridor and found themselves suddenly thrust into a wide, open space; they had reached the Grand Staircase, and all around them the portraits erupted in cheers, shouting encouragement and following alongside them as best they could through their frames. Sir Cadogan on his fat little pony galloped at full speed through several portraits, nearly trampling many of their occupants and forcing a group of terrified warlocks to dive aside just in time.

"Drive onward, brave comrades!" He shouted as they flew past, "Oust the rogues and scoundrels who have befouled our great keep, and purge it of their villainy! Take back that which is ours! Strike swiftly and true!"

He followed them as far as he could; across the length of the Great Staircase and into the opposite corridor, until the portraits lining the walls became increasingly sparse and then stopped altogether, and a spiral staircase loomed suddenly in front of them. They skidded to a halt at its base. The sound of clattering hooves faded slowly away, and they were left in silence once more.

"This is it." said Ron, stopping short.

"Then we can't waste any more time." Hermione replied. And although she was absolutely terrified of what she would find, she extinguished the light of her wand, took a firmer grasp on Ginny's hand, and started her ascent to the top of the tower.

With no wandlight to guide them, the darkness was complete. Steps seemed to melt into the gloom, presenting themselves only when Hermione approached. They dared not run here, for fear that Voldemort would hear them coming, but they moved as quickly as the heavy silence would allow. Painfully slowly, it seemed to Hermione, they spiraled ever upwards.

Then Ginny let out a whimper.

Not daring to speak, Hermione turned immediately towards her and gave an inquisitive look, pressing her finger to her lips. Ginny's pale face seemed to glow in the darkness. Her head turned this way and that, brows furrowed and her mouth slightly open in confusion. When Ginny made no effort to explain to Hermione what was going on, Hermione gave Ginny's hand a little tug and pulled her further along.

"I thought I saw something," Ginny managed, in the tiniest whisper. Hermione looked back at her.

"What?"

"It wasn't . . . at least I think it wasn't . . . never mind."

"Just . . . keep quiet. We're near the top."

But even as Ginny said it, Hermione thought she saw something pale flash across the edge of her vision. She turned her head instinctively to follow it, heart pounding in her chest, but nothing was there. Frowning, she pulled Ginny along faster still, gripping her wand very tightly in her hand. But the whips of white did not stop. She looked from side to side, trying to catch these strange shadows in her line of sight, but each time she whirled around for a closer look, they were gone.

"Whispers," breathed Ginny, "Can you hear them, too?"

Indeed, the heavy silence was no longer a silence. It was like the buzzing of a _Muffliato _charm; Hermione did not notice it at first, but slowly the whispers built up until quite suddenly she realized there were dozens of voices filling the staircase. She could distinguish no words, but knew that in some way they were connected to these pale flashes, these ghosts, for what else could they be?

"They're . . . ghosts, aren't they?" Hermione said, repeating her thoughts; for Ron and Luna must be seeing them too, dancing about in the black, "They must be ghosts."

"Not ghosts," Luna whispered back. "Souls."

Luna, unlike Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, did not seem at all bothered by the appearance of these souls, as she called them. Her expression, if anything, seemed somewhere between curiosity and enthrallment.

"You think they're because of You-Know-Who's potion?" asked Ron, whose freckles stood out against his chalky face.

"They must be, if they've broken through the veil." said Luna. Hermione expected her perhaps to reach out and touch one of them, but Luna stepped carefully around each soul, giving them a wide berth in which to float past. "They must be right on the edge. Nearly gone."

"They're so sad." said Ginny, a tiny note of panic in her voice. "I can hear them crying . . . "

Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand. "Shh. Don't look at them. We have to keep going . . . stay quiet . . . "

The four of them drifted into an uneasy silence, broken only by the whispers of those poor condemned souls who seemed to be ebbing away before their very eyes. _It's disgusting, _Hermione thought, as a distinctly child-shaped white wisp floated past as if caught in a terrible current. _All these people, sacrificed for one wizard. _

And quite suddenly a wave of rage swept over Hermione like nothing she had ever experienced before. She felt her face burn with the force of her anger, her hatred, all directed completely at that man who in his selfishness and malice had brought so much suffering into the world. Hermione found herself drawing on this new fuel to speed her ascent of the tower, so that Ginny and Ron and Luna were buffeted along in her wake, because there was nothing and nobody that could possibly stand in her way now.

Then all at once the stairs flattened out into the upper floor of the Astronomy Tower. The four stopped suddenly, for dark shapes blocked their path. After a moment's hesitation, Luna lit her wand and covered it with her hand, so that a dim reddish light fell upon the scene. Immediately Hermione wished she had not done this.

"Merlin's beard," said Ron. "That's sick."

The bodies of Hogwarts students filled this room.

But perhaps bodies was not quite the right word. Alive though they were, Hermione realized after a moment, the students also bore the unmistakable signs of having been subjected to the Dementor's kiss. They lay on the ground, piled carelessly on top of one another, their heads lolling and their movements feeble and heartless. There was no light behind their eyes, which stared straight ahead, reflecting back only the darkness that filled the room.

"Don't look at them," Luna said, more to Ginny than to anyone else, who had backed against the wall with a horror-stricken expression on her face. "There's nothing we can do for them now, just don't look. Think how to get through."

For a moment Hermione did not know what on earth Luna was talking about; but then, with great difficulty, Hermione tore her eyes away from the bodies on the floor. They fell apon short staircase that led to the tallest part of the tower, which overlooked the grounds and sky. A barrier had been conjured over the opening to the staircase, which lit the room with a fain green glow.

Knowing better than to pass through, Hermione did the first thing that came to mind. "_Reducto!"_ she whispered. The curse shot from her wand, but instead of blasting the barrier to pieces as was intended or even rebounding, the spell hit the green wall, which bent inwards on itself and absorbed the spell altogether, bouncing immediately back to its original position.

Disheartened, Hermione tried again, but to the same effect. Even when she, Ron, Ginny, and Luna combined their efforts, the barrier folded in only to snap right back like an elastic band.

"No!" cried Ginny in frustration. "No - no - no - NO!" She punctuated each _no_ with a spell; one by one they hit the barrier and were absorbed as if they had never been.

"Ginny, shh - it's all right, we'll figure out another way in - just be quiet or he'll hear - "

But even as she said it Hermione crossed out their options in her head. Blasting through the barrier would not yield any results. Apparition was impossible within the grounds. They had abandoned their brooms by the smashed window on the fifth floor, and had no time at all to retrieve them. A well-placed Blasting Curse could blow a hole in the ceiling . . . but this carried the risk of bringing the whole tower down on top of them, let alone alerting Voldemort to their presence.

Hermione looked at Ron, desperate for something, anything; but his face held no answers, only frustration. He was frowning, teeth gritted, staring so fixedly at the barrier that he appeared to be attempting to make it shatter with his mind alone.

Her eyes drifted past Ron to Luna, wondering if her usual out-of-the-box thinking could somehow get them through. Luna, however did not in fact appear to be troubled by their predicament at all. Her expression was the usual serene stare, her eyes still following the little souls that flitted about the room . . . there were very many of them, Hermione suddenly realized - much more than there had been on the staircase. Their dull whispers filled the crowded space with an unsettling echo.

"Look at them all," Luna said dreamily. "Can you tell what they're saying?"

Hermione could not, nor did she care; quickly losing patience, she turned and said rather hotly, "Luna, I really don't think it matters - "

"They're sorry." Ginny interrupted quietly. "They want to help."

"Is that what they're doing?" asked Luna. "How, then?"

"Can we please just focus on getting through that barrier?" Hermione cried, not believing what she was hearing. "They're ghosts or souls or - whatever they might be, they can't help us!"

"Just hang on a second, Hermione . . . " said Ron slowly. He too was squinting at the souls that were now swirling all around them, forming a pearly fog. At once Hermione rounded on him.

"Do any of you even _realize_ - "

"Hermione, just turn around!"

She obliged him begrudgingly, with a frown and a whirl of bushy brown hair; but her annoyance vanished a moment later.

The souls seemed to be pouring in from all directions, through the walls and ceiling and floor. They floated past the tower's four living occupants with a sad sort of grace, buffeted this way and that by a nonexistent wind. Slowly, surely, they made their way towards the barrier at the foot of the stairs.

"What are they . . . ?" Hermione could not finish her thought, and it garnered no response from the other three, who stared just as intently at the dancing, whispering shapes all around them.

The souls made their way slowly but surely towards the barrier at the far end of the room. Hermione expected them to pass through like they did the stone walls of the tower, but they could not; instead, as each soul pressed itself against the barrier, it gave a little shudder, its glassy surface rippling strangely, and the soul faded away into a wisp of smoke. They crowded around the barrier, pushing against it with all the force their insubstantial bodies could give. With each touch dozens of souls vanished, yet more and more still poured in.

"They're dying." Ginny said, horrified. She reached out to touch one of the souls as it passed, but her gentle fingers slipped easily through its indistinct form.

"They're already dead." said Luna. "This is . . . their last stand . . . one last fight before You-Know-Who uses them. They're helping us, Ginny - look."

And sure enough Hermione could see the barrier growing slowly more translucent, its surface no longer smooth, but wavering incessantly like stormy water. The room was filled now with souls, faint individually but so strong in numbers that they seemed to catch the moonlight, filling the room with a silvery light that outshone the glow of the barrier. Before Hermione's very eyes the barrier bent inwards, shuddering under great strain, and though the whispers of the souls seemed loud and agitated in her ears, they pushed on.

Then, all at once, as the whispering reached a pitch like the roar of the ocean, there was a great metallic clang and the barrier shattered into a thousand miniscule pieces. Hermione lifted her arms instinctively to protect herself, wand momentarily forgotten; the shards flew in every direction, cutting at her skin and clothing like glass. The souls were extinguished like smoke and flame as the pieces touched them, leaving no trace of their presence behind. Quite suddenly the room was dark and silent again. Then the air was rent by a scream of rage - Voldemort had heard them.

Without pausing to think, without giving herself time to doubt or to feel afraid, Hermione reached out for Ron's hand and charged up the stairs. She sent a dozen spells flying as soon as she could see stars above, hardly registering where her target might be; but they were all stopped immediately, sent whizzing back at her so quickly that Hermione barely had time to protect herself.

Behind the momentary safety of her Shield Charm, Hermione had a split second to take in her surroundings, her eyes moving across the tower and taking in details as if in slow motion. The cauldron stood beside the parapet, the glow of the fire beneath it nothing compared to the dazzling white light that shone from the surface of the potion. And next to the cauldron, appearing more like a skeleton than ever in the harsh white light, stood Voldemort. His red eyes were wide with anger; his wand arm was raised over his head in preparation for attack. He stood at the opposite end of the tower, and in the twenty or so feet that separated them, were the remaining students. Not nearly enough remained here or in the room below to match the amount that had vanished from the Great Hall . . . and then Hermione imagined the students being levitated over the edge of the tower, their usefulness outlived . . .

The horror of it all made Hermione's blood boil. She saw red for a moment, but paid for it dearly in the next second - the world jumped suddenly back to normal speed again, and had it not been for Ron's quick spellwork, Voldemort's attack would have caught her unawares.

The force of Voldemort's spell shattered Ron's Shield Charm in one hit. It ricocheted off of the surface and set fire to its jagged pieces, which Luna extinguished with a cry of, "_Aguamenti!"_ The smoke that rose from the flames swirled unnaturally and became a dense black cloud that seemed to suck all of the oxygen out of the air; Hermione gasped but could not draw breath, and barely managed a nonverbal charm that scattered the noxious cloud in a gust of wind. But the cloud re-formed into a dark, batlike shape which swooped in apon them only to be beaten back by a barrage of curses. The bat spun in the air and became a hail of silver knives, which soared like speeding bullets and sunk several inches into their Shield Charms.

Hermione found herself with hardly an opening even to counterattack; so strong was the force of Voldemort's enchantments. It seemed like a miracle for any of them even to have avoided injury so far, let alone landed a blow on their opponent - but then a silver spell shot from Voldemort's wand and rammed through Luna's Shield Charm. Hermione turned in horror as Luna dove to the side, but she was too late. The spell clipped her side and seemed to transfer all of its momentum to her, so that she spun in midair and was thrown backwards against the wall, just inches from the edge of the tower.

"NO!" Ginny cried, and she ran forward, managing to hoist Luna up and out of the way just in time. Voldemort's Killing Curse left a scorch mark in the ground where Luna had been an instant before. Hermione ran forward to give them cover while Ginny helped Luna get back on her feet. She threw a volley of hexes at Voldemort, which burst from her wand in a near unbroken stream; but he parried these easily and sent his own spells back at her, so that she was forced closer to Ron. Hermione found herself grasping his hand tightly in her own as streaks of light whizzed past. Several hit the wall behind them, their force blasting craters in the stone. The air filled quickly with dust, which made it hard to see even a few feet away. Spells loomed suddenly out of the cloud, dangerously close.

"Hermione - " Ron gasped, his face covered with sweat and dirt, but Hermione never heard what he was going to say; a jet of orange light caught him squarely in the chest and he was blasted backwards against the wall. Before he had even time to groan, the light moved in a strange way for a spell, twisting like a snake; it sprung into a fiery rope, which bound him tightly. Ron yelled with pain - his clothing had caught fire.

"RON!" Hermione shouted, abandoning all pretense and running to his side."_Aguamenti! Aguamenti! AGUAMENTI!_" But the spell seemed to have little effect on the cursed flames that licked Ron's body; they hissed and smoked but hardly diminished. A spell shot past her ear but Hermione took no mind. Dirty tear tracks stained her face. She could not believe it. She was watching Ron die before her very eyes. "Ron, no - please - _Aguamenti!_"

But again her spell had no effect; and, to her horror, Hermione heard Voldemort's high, cold, cruel laugh sound behind her. Hermione dropped to Ron's side, sobbing harder than ever and coughing from the stone dust, practically flooding him with water that did next to nothing. She was desperate, hysterical; she _must_ save him -

"Your friends are dead, Mudblood . . . you are the only one left . . . "

"NO!" she screamed, for even if Luna and Ginny were obscured by the dust, Ron was still alive next to her . . . still yelling in pain at her feet. The flames seemed to be moving deathly slow, the ropes constricting tighter and tighter, causing him the maximum amount of torture before - but she must not permit that thought to form in her head - "AGUAMENTI!"

"You can not save them; nor can you save yourself . . . "

"NO! RON! _DIFFINDO!" _

Hermione did not know what made her say it, or how she possibly could have thought that a Severing Charm would help her at this moment. Yet amazingly, to her utter shock and relief, the flaming ropes that bound Ron were cut clean through, and he pushed them off in one swift movement.

"When my potion is ready, I will be unstoppable . . . "

"Ron! Oh, God, Ron - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you're all right - !"

Words seemed to be beyond him at this point, however. Angry burns covered his body, and a shallow gash ran from his chest to his navel where Hermione's Severing Charm had cut him. He gripped Hermione's free arm with both of his own, his fingers shaking, his eyes dark and full of fear.

". . . but you will not live to see it."

"_E - Episkey!" _Hermione's voice shook; the cut began to heal over, but there was nothing she could do for the burns, she did not know what spell -

It was as if a speeding train had rammed into the side of her head. Hermione felt the blow, felt herself falling; but she was tumbling much too far, she could not see where she was . . . she somersaulted, crashing many times into a hard, stony something . . .

Hermione became vaguely aware that she was curled in a ball on a cold, uncomfortable surface. There was something hot and sticky dripping from the side of her head, but if it hurt, she could not feel it. Everything was moving; she felt as if the stone beneath her were the deck of a ship. Slowly, painfully, she turned over and vomited. Her right arm would not support her weight. It was very dark.

Flashes of light from a narrow staircase . . . a scream of pain . . . a cruel laugh . . . the battle. She must get back, she must help the others fight . . . but it was so hard to move. She wanted nothing more than to remain here, on this cold stone floor, and succumb to the pain; but if Ron died she would never forgive herself.

A gasp of pain escaped Hermione's lips as she pushed herself upwards. Her right arm felt as if a thousand needles had been stuck into it; blood gushed from a jagged wound on the side of her head. Nevertheless, she shook it to clear her thoughts, trying very hard to focus her vision. The world stopped spinning very slowly, and Hermione realized where she was. She had been knocked down the flight of stairs separating the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower from its highest room. Another scream sounded from above her, and Hermione snapped into a run, her right arm hanging limp at her side and her wand held tightly in her left.

Her three friends could not spare a greeting when Hermione joined them again. Luna was moving with a limp and Ginny had acquired several gashes on her arms and face. They stood protectively in front of Ron, who lay propped up against the tower wall, unable to stand but still casting spells with his blistered wand arm. Each was fighting valiantly, but even their best efforts could not hold Voldemort back. They lost ground all the while, missing Killing Curses by mere inches.

Hermione sent a dozen different spells soaring at Voldemort as she joined ranks with Luna and Ginny, but she could tell even as she sent them that they were nowhere near as well-cast as they should have been. With her wand arm broken, her spellwork suffered - and this was even without considering the stabbing pain in her arm and head, which made it so difficult to focus.

But something was amiss. She was still able to inflict minor blows on her opponent's defenses. Hermione's abilities had diminished considerably, and against an opponent such as Voldemort, this should have presented much more of a problem than it did.

Then, quite suddenly, Hermione realized what was going on. Voldemort had slowed as well. The delay was by no means enough to give them the upper hand, but it was there nonetheless. She regarded him carefully, watching his face . . . there. As he sent a spell whizzing at Luna, his eyes flicked for a millisecond towards the bubbling cauldron.

But Hermione had seen enough spells glance off the cauldron's protective charms to know that it was very well protected. So why was Voldemort suddenly worrying? Why did seem to be making sure that there was ample distance between himself and the cauldron? _When my potion is ready, _he had said before. Could this mean that soon -

A jet of green light whizzed past and struck the stone wall inches from where Ron lay, and Hermione jerked herself back to attention. Hermione knew that a potion as complex as this one was bound to be temperamental, and could easily overcook - though, admittedly, she could not be sure. The best they could do at the moment was try and hold Voldemort back for as long as overcooking it would take. At the very least they would make it difficult for him to get to it once it was ready for consumption; he would have to break through all of his own protective enchantments in order to even reach it.

But at the same time, Hermione thought miserably, their chances of holding up that long were slim indeed.

A Reductor Curse hit the ground at her feet, burning her skin red and raw, and she yelled with pain. Luna did not seem to be able to put much weight on her left leg; her reaction times were becoming slower and slower, her teeth gritted with concentration. Ginny fought with a snarl though another foul curse caught her arm, turning the skin bruised and purple within seconds. Behind them Ron's ragged breathing could be heard even over the spellfire. His curses rarely made it to his target; it seemed to cause him agony even to lift his arm.

"Hermione," he grunted, "I don't know if we can - " he gripped his chest in pain, " - I don't know if we can do this much longer - "

"Keep going!" shouted Luna. "He's got no Horcruxes! We can - ARGH!"

"Luna!"

Blood spurted from the front of Luna's robes, following the vertical slash of Voldemort's wand. Her eyes, for the first time that night, filled perceptibly with fear; then she stumbled backwards and fell, hands dabbing weakly at her chest.

"Cover me, Ginny!"

Hermione knew that every minute Luna was allowed to bleed was a minute closer to death. And yet Ginny could never hold out on her own; they were being forced back, unable to defend themselves or to aide their friends - in desperation Hermione attempted a Blasting Curse with her left arm - but almost immediately she knew that something was horribly wrong -

Instead of shooting at Voldemort, the explosion burst directly at the tip of Hermione's wand, far more powerful than any Blasting Curse she had ever cast and much too close for comfort. She had one second to discard her weapon before she was thrown against the tower wall, where she slid down next to Ron. Stars burst in front of her eyes; the world seemed to have fallen eerily silent. Her fingers, when she held them up to see, were coated with blood.

Hermione could just barely make out the blurred figure of Voldemort hanging dangerously over the edge of the parapet . . . Ginny was writhing on the ground, reaching desperately for her wand . . . Luna jerked and twitched, alive but losing blood . . . Ron was shouting something at her, but his words were distorted, as if they were reaching her ears from the end of a long tunnel . . .

" . . . while there's still . . . go now, Hermione. . . stop him from . . . "

"What?" Hermione murmured.

"Go, Hermione!" she winced at the loudness, "You've got to . . . like it's finished cooking or something . . . before he gets up . . . "

_Cooking?_ Hermione's brain seemed slow and sluggish, unable to process what was happening at full speed. _What on earth . . ._

Trapped in a daze, Hermione looked towards Voldemort. But her eyes did not stop as he gritted his teeth and pulled himself into a standing position; they passed him over and fell upon the bubbling cauldron. As she watched, its contents churned and swirled faster and faster until suddenly its surface suddenly shone a deep crimson, like liquid rubies, staining every surface it touched with bloody red light.

It took a second of ringing silence for the puzzle pieces to fall into place.

Voldemort was moving slowly, injured, towards the cauldron, waving his wand to remove the enchantments.

If he reached that cauldron, everything would be lost.

"NO!" Hermione shrieked.

She dove for her wand, but her body screamed in protest; she could not move without every inch of her erupting in pain - Voldemort could see her moving, struggling, and he spoke faster - the sounds were still distorted and eerie, she could not tell what he was saying - the barrier around the cauldron appeared to have been set on fire, invisible as it was, the flames seeming to float suspended in the air - Hermione's fingers closed around her wand - the flames had burned away the barrier almost completely - Hermione raised her arm with her last ounce of strength and shouted hoarsely, ripping her throat raw - "EXPELLIARMUS!" - Voldemort's wand flew from his hand but it was too late; he was reaching for the potion with triumph in his eyes -

And then, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny move.

Abandoning her wand where it lay out of reach, Ginny leapt up and ran at Voldemort, her hair catching the bloody light as it flew behind her. As she did so she let loose from her lips the most terrible sound Hermione had ever heard in her life. Her scream rent the air, and the sound seemed to sap the air of all its warmth. It spoke of everything, all of Ginny's pent-up frustration and pain and worry that had accumulated over the past year. The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood up. She had never heard a more mournful sound.

And suddenly Hermione knew what she was going to do a split second before it happened.

"GINNY, NO!"

But the fire in Ginny's eyes did not dim, and the determination with which she set down each step did not diminish. She dove at Voldemort as his hand touched the rim of the cauldron, and together they tipped over the edge of the parapet and fell out of sight.

There were a few moments of ringing silence during which no one, not Hermione nor Ron nor any of the fighters on the grounds below, dared to breathe.

Two heavy thuds echoed in the night.

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><p><strong>Hello! I just wanted to say here that the process of completing this chapter was both very very long and very very difficult. I must've written and rewritten the battle a thousand times. But because of all the hard work that went into this - probably the most important chapter in this entire fic - I am incredibly proud of it. It's been fun and challenging working this story up to its climax, and I'm extremely happy that it's turned out the way it has. Also, please don't kill me for the ending - I know it's harsh, but it had to be done.<strong>


	19. A Resolution

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Chapter 19 | A Resolution**

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><p>The warm summer's night turned suddenly to frigid winter. Ron could not feel the pain of his burns, only the terrible cold that permeated every inch of his body, freezing his brain so that coherent thought was rendered impossible. He struggled desperately to draw breath, but someone was holding his head under icy water; he was suffocating from the sheer force of his grief. He needed to escape, he needed to get up, he needed to catch his sister -<p>

"GINNY! GINNY!"

A blaring voice, the most terrible sound Ron had ever heard, brought him hurtling back into the present. Hermione was screaming as if she had been mortally wounded, still splayed on the ground where the explosion had thrown her, her arms outstretched and tears pouring down her face. Her voice was like knives; the very sound of her grief was causing him unendurable pain.

Ron tried to shout as well, to scream as loudly and with as much force as he could manage, but the cry ripped at his throat and his voice cracked like glass. He could not stand to lay here, immobile against the wall. He had to move, he had to reach the edge of the tower. If he could just look, just see that Ginny was all right, the effort it cost him to get there would all be worth it.

As Ron pulled himself excruciatingly forward, Hermione moved as well. She had stopped shouting for Ginny, but the sounds of her crying still lashed at Ron like hot irons. She staggered to her feet, swaying dangerously.

Ron tried to call out her name, but it left his lips as merely a whisper, and even if he could speak he was not sure if she would be able to hear him; as she moved, he caught a glimpse of her face, contorted into such a mask of grief and pain that it seemed scarcely recognizable. She turned several times, as though lost and unsure, and for a moment Ron saw Hermione at her lowest point, stripped of all her walls and protection, a scared little girl in a large and unforgiving world. Then her eyes found Luna, and she forced herself to recover. Still crying, still gasping with pain, Hermione bent over Luna and began to heal her wounds as best she could. Her voice shook as she repeated the spell over and over, a crooning incantation that was almost like a song. To Ron it sounded like a lullaby. Hermione's one tiny comfort.

With a shout of pain Ron dragged himself still forward. He passed Hermione and Luna on his hands and knees, paying no attention to the blood, which was not his own, that stained his robes as he went. He had to look, he had to see Ginny. He refused to grieve until he was sure. The icy coldness in his chest was more excruciating than all of his injuries.

"R-Ron - " Hermione's voice was cracked and hoarse. Ron could not find the strength to turn and look at her as she spoke. "Ron, g-g-get away f-from the edge - Ron, please, d-don't - "

Ron heard Luna groan, and Hermione resumed her incantation. Her tone was desperate, pleading; more frantic than before. Ron felt another dull stab of pain in his chest.

Ron's hand felt the edge of the battlement. With great effort, he pulled himself up so that the castle grounds came into view. Night was fading quickly into dawn, and the waters of the lake were glinting with the first pale beams of sunlight. Little bundles seemed scattered about the lawn, no more than dark stains in the grass from this height. Smoke was still rising from the doors of the castle, and amidst the clouds of gray, black shapes were also moving . . . but no flashes or yells accompanied their arrival . . . slowly, cautiously, they approached the foot of the Astronomy tower . . . two tiny bodies lay before the gathering crowd.

At once a hot, boiling rage replaced the cold in Ron's chest. He wanted to scream, to fight, to battle until no one remained standing. He wanted to punish ever last one of the bastards that had anything to do with his sister's - but he could not say it -

"Ron, p-please, calm down!"

Ron had not realized that he was yelling, though his voice made scarcely a sound. His hands were fists, the skin on his knuckles stretched white over the bone, his fingernails cutting into his palms. He struggled with all his might against Hermione, who was trying desperately to pull him away from the edge of the tower. She was crying harder than ever.

"Stop it! R-Ron! Please, stop!"

Hermione pulled him closer to her body, and although her touch did nothing to aide the pain of his burns, Ron felt himself becoming still within her embrace. And although the fight was leaving his body, the angry fire which burned in his chest did not go out - nor, Ron knew, would it ever.

Ron was not sure how long Hermione held him, only that at some point she kissed his forehead and left to attend to Luna. Ron remained where he lay, watching her work. He wanted so badly to scream, to thrash, to destroy everything in pointless anger. It was not his injuries that stopped him, however. The sheer force of his boiling rage seemed to have locked his muscles permanently tense.

In the dim light of dawn, Luna's face appeared deathly pale. Her eyes remained firmly shut, and although she no longer shook uncontrollably, the pool of blood that stained the stones around her was still noticeably large. Hermione had done the best that she could.

"I'm so s-sorry, Ron," said Hermione, turning away from Luna, who now seemed to be in a deep sleep. Her tone was still edged with panic. "I c-can't do anything for you, burns are a bit d-different from cuts and I was n-never the b-best healer . . . Oh, I've got to get b-both of you to the hospital wing - come on. "

Ron opened his mouth to tell Hermione that he could not possibly walk, but he did not need to. Hermione conjured two wooden stretchers out of thin air. She helped Ron carefully onto one, minding his burns, and lifted Luna onto the other. With another wave of her wand, the two stretchers rose of their own volition and floated slowly down the stairs, Hermione following somberly in their wake. Ron was reminded strongly of a funeral procession, in which he was one of the bodies.

It seemed like a thousand miles from the top of the Astronomy Tower to the hospital wing. When they got there, however, it was empty.

"Are they in the Great Hall?" asked Ron, peering around at the empty ward, "Like - like last time?"

"I can't imagine where else they'd be." said Hermione. Her voice was small and quiet. Ron wanted to reach out and hold her hand as they began to move once more, but his last reserves of strength seemed to have been depleted. Funny. His burns did not hurt any more, and yet he could not lift his arm . . .

"Stay awake, Ron."

Hermione's voice jerked him out of a dreamy fog. While an instant before Ron had been staring straight up at the ceiling of the hospital wing, a maze of staircases were now passing over his head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Please, Ron, don't fall asleep."

"Okay . . ."

"Ron, please! We'll be there soon enough - Madam Pomfrey will give you something and you'll be fine, just keep your eyes open!"

Her voice sounded slightly hysterical; Ron dimly registered that the stretchers were moving more quickly than before. Suddenly the openness of the Grand Staircase was cut off by an archway, and then a vast sky expanded overhead. Ron blinked. He did not remember going outside, but the dawn was so beautiful that he did not care to think more on it. Fresh new light shone down on his face, pink and gold, dotted with silver clouds . . . but why did it smell like smoke?

"Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley!" shouted a terrified voice from very far away.

"Hermione, dear, thank goodness you're - but who's - " the second voice ended in a cry of shock.

"They're still - they're injured and I think they'll be all right if we hurry - I did the best I could with Luna, but Ron, I don't know how to treat burns and I was afraid I'd hurt him even more than he's already been - "

"Molly, what's going on?" said a third voice.

"Oh, Arthur, it's Ron!"

"Ron? _That's _Ron?"

"It's him, it's him, he must have been caught in the fire - "

"Merlin's beard."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" shrieked the first voice. "I didn't know the spell, I should have brought him here sooner!"

"You've done beautifully, dear, let me - "

A familiar face, framed with red hair, obscured Ron's view of the sky. He found it difficult to train his eyes on his mother, though he knew by the moisture dripping onto his skin that she was crying.

"You're going to be fine, Ron, just stay still. Keep those eyes open. That's my boy. You're going to be all right."

Something was poking him gently in the ribs. Ron twisted away from it. He did not know what was going on.

"Ron, dear, please lie still."

A strange, prickling sensation was creeping up his chest. Ron clenched his teeth against the feeling, trying to push his mother away, but he could not seem to make his body work the way it was supposed to. He began to thrash on the stretcher, unable to escape the painful feeling. His mother and father and Hermione were all around him, blocking his view of the sky, begging him to lie quietly. But their words were becoming softer and softer, their faces moving further and further away. He struggled harder, because now hands were restraining him, and the terrible sensation was spreading all over his body, a thousand times worse than his burns. Ron wanted to see the sky. He did not want to look at the walls, black with soot, or the faces over him, wet with tears. He needed the sky . . .

"Don't . . . don't want to . . . stop . . . hurts . . . "

"I know, Ron, I know it does. The worst is over."

Ron's eyes were closed, and the thing on which he lay was remarkably warm and soft. His memories seemed to be returning to him at a snail's pace. In his mind's eye, Ron saw Ginny running down a dark corridor, the curve of the spiral staircase as it twisted upwards, the glint in Voldemort's eyes as he aimed a curse. They felt to Ron like recollections from another person's life; and he, the observer, felt nothing at their return.

"Hermione . . . "

"I'm here, Ron." a hand closed around his, and he did not mind the pain of the touch on his sensitive skin. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay. I'm with you."

Ron's eyes flickered open. Above him, the sky was the palest blue, tinged with rose and gold, not long after sunrise. On the edges of his vision, Ron could see people moving about the Hall, their voices a quiet babble in the background. But over the dull noise, Ron could hear sounds that were not quite as comforting. Someone was yelling loudly, evidently in a great deal of pain. Dry sobs echoed from another corner. A shaking voice was reciting a prayer.

"What's happened?"

Hermione's eyes were already red and puffy, but at these words, they became glassy with tears again.

"Your mum put you right. We were worried you weren't g-going to make it, but . . . but you did. You're going to be fine. Just keep still, don't move, don't overexert yourself. M-Madam Pomfrey was around a few minutes ago, I should probably go tell her you're awake - "

"No. Don't leave." Ron said, as Hermione started to stand. In truth, at her words, the pain had begun to return; his muscles were stiff and heavy, his head throbbed with each loud heartbeat, and his skin felt as if it had been covered by one large bruise. But he needed to be with Hermione right now, for reasons he did not quite understand, or else did not care to.

"Don't leave." Ron repeated. "There are probably loads of people worse off than I am. She doesn't need to waste her time. Besides. I want you here."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, her eyes very wide, and then sat back slowly in her chair. Another yell, the same voice, sounded again from the other end of the hall. It caught her attention for a moment, pulling her face into a taut frown, and she did not settle until it had subsided. Soot had settled in the lines of her face. It gave her the appearance of a much older woman, one who had suffered through many years of hardship.

"How bad is it?" Ron asked quietly, after a moment.

Hermione looked down. "We haven't been able to retrieve all of the . . . b-bodies . . . yet, so we don't know exactly how many we've - we've l-lost. People with injuries are getting priority right now."

"D'you know if any - anyone we know - ?"

"Kingsley's lost his wand arm, and Dean's been cursed, we don't know exactly what, he keeps . . . he keeps screaming . . . " as if on cue, another bloodcurdling cry echoed down the hall. Hermione closed her eyes at the sound. "Neville, Charlie, Andromeda, and Professor McGonagall were injured but they're fine, they're up and about . . . Luna's still unconscious. Madam Pomfrey says the best we can do now is let her rest. She's lost a lot of blood."

Ron was searching her face for any sign of information she might be holding back, but the pale, tear-stained visage showed no trace of a lie.

"That's . . . not quite what I meant."

Hermione looked down, and Ron saw a few tears spill into her lap. The pit in his chest gave a painful lurch. Immediately he assumed the worst. He opened his mouth, preparing a stream of names, desperate for Hermione to verify that they had all indeed survived - but before Ron could speak, Hermione looked up, dabbing her cheeks with her sleeve. Her jaw was set tight, and there was something in her eyes that made Ron's voice die in his throat.

"Professor Flitwick and - and Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones and Firenze . . . and Cho, she t-turned up halfway through saying she'd f-felt her DA coin burn - she broke out of this - this _awful_ cell in Malfoy Manor j-just to come and fight, but she - she - " Hermione took great gasps to steady herself.

"It's okay," said Ron, desperate to comfort her in some small way. "It's all right."

But they both knew very well that it was not.

After a moment, Hermione went on in a constricted voice. "Right now it looks like m-most of the casualties were - were the students."

Ron closed his eyes and gave a long, heavy sigh. He wanted to have said something to Hermione then, to ease her pain; but simply no words existed that could possibly describe the terrible, black pit that had just opened up in his chest. He closed his hand around Hermione's, paying the pain no mind, and saw in her eyes that she understood.

After a moment, she went on in a thick voice. "Some of them were caught in the fire, but a lot of them were given the Dementor's kiss. They've . . . well . . . seeing as they're not exactly d-dead, we've been trying to get them into the c-castle . . . warm beds . . . a bit of c-comfort . . . it's - it's the least we can d-do - "

Hermione could go no further. With an awful sob, she pressed her hand to her face and began to cry. Ron pulled himself laboriously into a sitting position in order to comfort her. As she sobbed into his shoulder, Ron's eyes found the corner of the Great Hall that housed the students that had become the victims of Voldemort's plan. They stirred listlessly on stretchers, their eyes staring blankly up at the enchanted ceiling.

"You Know Who," Ron said, some time later, after Hermione's sobs had subsided somewhat.

"W-What?" she said thickly.

"Voldemort. He's dead. Tell me he's dead."

Slowly, Hermione nodded. Ron let out a slow breath. Though he knew there was no way anyone could have survived such a fall, somehow, Voldemort's death had not seemed real until this moment. Hermione's deliberate nod had lifted a heavy weight from Ron's chest. It was true, then. Fact. Voldemort had met his end.

"Good." he said. "Good. The bastard. That's for Harry."

"Ron, don't get angry, please." Hermione chided softly, but it not anger that burned inside him as he went on These were a different sort of flames.

"For Ginny! For Cho and Flitwick - Firenze, Sturgis Podmore, Hestia Jones! For Dumbledore! Sirius! Lupin! Tonks! Dobby! Hell, for Malfoy, too, you son of a bitch! For Fred! You hear me? _That's for them!"_

Ron had not realized that he was shouting until the sound of his voice echoed back to him from every corner of the cavernous hall. Faces turned all around, trying to pinpoint the source of the bouncing noise, but to Ron it seemed to be issuing from the very walls itself, from the mouths of the dead, covered in sheets; from the grounds to the forest to the mountains, all the world was sending out its cry; _that's for them, that's for them, that's for them . . ._

"We did it." said Hermione tearfully. "Ginny did it."

"You're damn right she did." Ron said.

And or the first time since he had watched his sister plummet from the top of the Astronomy Tower, Ron felt tears slip down his cheeks as well. There was no victory here; there had been no last and final triumph. Every innocent life taken had been the loss of another war. Ron felt hollow, empty. It was only in the pressure of Hermione against his chest, pressing on him with warmth and comfort, that he was able to keep himself from falling completely to pieces.

The rest of Ron's family, alerted by the sound of his voice echoing throughout the hall, appeared at his side not long after. His mother dove in to clutch him in her arms, and Ron returned the gesture without hesitation. She was shaking uncontrollably, coherent speech long past her. Ron struggled not to succumb to tears once more, trying and failing to put on a brave face for his mother. Over her shoulder, Ron saw his father, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and George, all bearing expressions that were undoubtedly very similar to his own. He wanted desperately to ask them what had happened to Ginny. Each time his lips formed the words, however, the sound stuck painfully in his throat.

Hermione seemed to have melted quietly into the crowd, but Ron felt no desire to find her just yet. He stayed there with his family for an immeasurable amount of time, hardly speaking but knowing, somehow, that in each other's presence the word had become slightly less unforgiving a place.

"Where's . . . where's Ginny, mum?" Ron said quietly, after a long while.

His mother, who had been patting his hand absently and staring at the floor, looked up. At the mention of her daughter's name, her face twisted into such an expression of pain and anguish that Ron had trouble meeting her eyes.

"I - sorry, mum . . . I shouldn't have - "

"Don't be sorry," said Mrs. Weasley, and for a woman who looked as if her world was collapsing around her, her voice was remarkably steady. "She's over there. Where Dumbledore's chair used to be."

She pointed to the head of the hall, on the raised platform which once housed the staff table. The area had now been cleared of broken glass, and the light of the newly risen sun now shone through the shattered window and onto the faces of the dead. Sheets covered some, but not all; beneath one white cloth in the center of the row, a shock of bright red hair was just visible.

Ron stared from afar for a long while. Then, quite suddenly, he threw off his covers, accidentally unseating his mother.

"Help me up. I want to see her."

Immediately his family closed in around him, all of them speaking at once.

"No, Ron, you're still hurt - "

"Don't make the burns worse - "

"You need rest - "

"_I know!_" said Ron loudly, and the worried voices fell silent at once. "I don't care. Let me up. I want to see my sister."

Ron's gaze fell suddenly upon George, whose face was stark white, tear tracks like gashes running down his cheeks. They looked at one another for a long moment. Then, slowly, George reached out a hand and helped Ron carefully to his feet. One arm around his brother, the rest of their family following closely behind, Ron stumbled towards the row of bodies at the head of the hall.

Even from far away, as they slowly approached, Ron could see the outline of her body against the rough white cloth. She lay perfectly straight, her legs arranged neatly beneath her, handled with evident care by tearful family members. A wrinkle over her chest told him that her hands had been folded, undoubtedly clutching, as per tradition, her wand in her stiff fingers. Her fiery red hair hung past the sheet and over the edge of the stretcher, just brushing the blackened flagstones.

Then, all too suddenly, Ginny was mere inches away, separated from him only by a thin sheet; yet Ron studied her silhouette for a long time before the thought to pull the sheet back even occurred to him. It would be nice to see her one last time, Ron thought, before she was lowered into the ground. Yet as he stood there and time dwindled on, the less the sheet seemed like a sheet and the more it seemed like a brick wall. He was being stupid, Ron told himself. He needed only to pull back the veil and Ginny would be there - but he could not do it. His hand would not move, and they were separated not only by a sheet but a great chasm; an uncrossable distance; the void between life and death. He could not bring himself to see his own sister's face when she was dead, gone, and the thing he would be staring at would only be the empty vessel that she had once occupied.

"Ron," his mother said quietly, after they had been standing there for a long while, "D-do you want to . . . " she let her question hang in the air, the words to painful to say but their meaning nevertheless imparted.

"No." said Ron, with a strength in his voice that surprised him. "No. Where's Hermione?"

"She's - I believe she's seeing to Luna." replied his mother. "Ron, dear, are you - "

"No." said Ron firmly. There was a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with smoke or fire. "I want to see Hermione."

He turned his back on the row of bodies and began to shuffle towards the mane of bushy brown hair that he had spotted from afar; but the pain of walking unassisted proved too much, and Ron stumbled. He closed his eyes as the blackened flagstones rushed up to meet him, but a pair of hands caught him suddenly and lifted him carefully to his feet. It was George. He met Ron's gaze and as they began to walk, saying nothing but somehow understanding everything.

Hermione's words drifted over to Ron and George as they slowly approached. They stopped a few feet behind her, but she did not notice. Luna was stirring in her cot, and Hermione was seated at the edge, trying with difficulty to keep her still.

"Shh," said Hermione, pushing Luna back. "Relax."

"What . . . what's going . . . ?"

"It's all right," Hermione said.

Luna's eyes were unfocused; her hands waved vaguely in the air. "I - I feel funny."

"You were injured."

"But . . . it doesn't hurt. It's just . . . funny."

"That's just the spell doing it's job. It's nothing to worry about."

"I don't like it."

"It'll be okay in a little while. Just give it time."

"I don't _like _it."

"I know," said Hermione; her voice wavered. "I know."

"Why are . . . why are you crying?"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione hastily wiped her eyes. "Just sit back and - "

"You're crying."

"It's nothing, Luna."

"But . . . why are you sad?" Luna's brows knitted together; she turned her head this way and that, looking for something.

"Lay still. Please, you're going to open your cut if you're not careful."

"Where's Ginny?"

"You need to stop moving." Hermione said in a strained voice.

"I saw her - I saw her running at - "

"Just relax, please, Luna!"

Hermione's voice broke, a hysterical note buried somewhere in the sadness. At once Luna's eyes widened.

"Oh," She said softly. "Oh no."

Hermione threw her arms around Luna without hesitation, and they rocked with sadness for a long moment. Luna patted Hermione's back with a weak hand as Hermione sobbed into her shoulder. Tears slipped down Luna's gaunt cheeks as well.

"It's all right." Luna said quietly. "It's okay, Hermione. She's gone off to a better place. She's happy now. She's with Harry."

Ron thought he heard Hermione mumble something along the lines of, "you don't know."

"No, we don't." Luna replied. Her eyes were unfocused, and she appeared to be struggling to find even simple words. "That's the hard part. But . . . there are some times when you just need to have faith."

Hermione did not respond. For a moment Ron wondered if he should intervene, place a hand on her shoulder; but after a moment, Hermione sat up, blinking and red-eyed.

"Thank you, Luna. For everything." she said. Her voice was heavy, sincere. "You really should get some rest now."

"Yes . . . I am quite tired. Are you sure you're all right?" Luna said, as she leaned back on the pillow. The conversation seemed to have exhausted her.

"I really don't think I will be for a while."

"That's good," Luna said dreamily, her eyes fluttering shut. "That's the way it's supposed to be."

And just like that she was asleep.

Hermione stayed there, at the edge of the bed, for a moment. She was still clutching Luna's hand.

"Hermione," said Ron softly, and she looked around quickly, her hair spinning around her head.

"Ron - George - " she stood, looking alarmed. "He shouldn't be up - "

"I've got him, Hermione, it's all right." said George.

"Are you sure? How are your burns, Ron?"

"I'm fine, Hermione. They don't hurt much." This was a lie, of course, but the last thing Ron wanted was to worry Hermione.

Hermione pursed her lips, looking as though she would very much like to needle them more, but mercifully let the subject drop. Ron, however, was not quite finished.

"I want to go up to the Astronomy Tower." He said. "We need to get rid of that potion."

"There's no way you're going to be able to get up all of those steps." Hermione asked.

"Of course I can. I'm fine." Ron insisted.

"Why don't you sit down, at least for a while. I can do it myself. "

"This is important!" Ron said. "I'm not going to sit around while everything happens, I want to help!"

"You know, I think I might be with Hermione on this one, mate." said George.

"I'm fine!" said Ron angrily.

"You don't look fine." Hermione said.

"I am!"

"You're sure?"

"Of course I bloody well am!"

Hermione frowned. She paused for a moment, meeting George's eyes. Then, finally: "At least let me put you in a stretcher."

Ron frowned, but he knew enough not to argue with Hermione when her mind was made.

"Are you coming, too, George?" Hermione said as she waved her wand, conjuring another stretcher out of thin air.

"No." said George shortly.

There was something in his voice that made Ron look around at George, even as he was helped onto the stretcher by Hermione. His brother had turned, his eyes on the front of the hall. Their family was still gathered around Ginny's body; and by the looks of it, their mother had succumbed once more to tears.

"I'll catch up with you guys later." George said, and he left quickly without looking back.

Ron sat on his stretcher in a daze as George moved away. He wanted nothing more than to follow his brother back, towards the row of bodies, to where his family now stood together. He wanted to hold his mother and his brothers and his father, and to share in their grief. But Ron forced himself to look away. He needed to finish this, to destroy the potion, and be done with the war once and for all.

"Are you all right, Ron?" asked Hermione.

Ron blinked. "I'm fine. Let's go."

She hesitated, looking back towards the rest of the Weasleys, but obliged after a moment. Hermione flicked her wand and the stretcher began to move, sliding smoothly through the rows of the injured and out of the Great Hall.

Ron refused point-blank to lie down, as Hermione insisted. He remained upright and alert all the way up the Grand Staircase, waving feebly at the portraits which cheered and applauded at their passing. To the paintings, a great victory had been won. They had lost nothing in the struggle. Ron, however, could not force himself to smile.

They continued up and onto the seventh floor, heading towards the tower. Here the portraits were whooping even more enthusiastically than the ones they had passed on the way up; for these were the paintings that had egged them on as they had raced across this same staircase, retracing now the same path they had made on their way to confront Voldemort. They had run through these halls mere hours before, but it seemed to Ron like a lifetime ago. Now the corridors were filled with light and the laughter of the portraits, and the sound of only one pair of footsteps echoed off the stone walls, less urgent than the four that had run through here in the early hours of the morning.

Then came the spiral staircase, and just as before, silence fell in as they approached. The portraits' rowdy calls faded around the bend, and they climbed in silence, the windows throwing harsh beams of sunlight across the shadowy steps. This time, no lost souls arrived to greet them on their way.

Ron and Hermione climbed for what seemed like ages, until the spin of the staircase became dizzying, but at last they came to the tallest room of the tower. The students that had lain here earlier, discarded like rubbish, had since been carefully removed to the Great Hall by gentle hands. Now only rubble littered this room, scattered in the doorway to the observation deck. Fine gray dust still trickled from the ceiling, which had cracked in several places.

"Do you think it's safe to go up?" Hermione asked, her voice small in the quiet.

"_Reparo." _ said Ron, pointing his wand, and the cracks snapped back into place with a sound like a splitting boulder.

Ignoring Hermione's protests, He stood up slowly and carefully. "It's just one flight of stairs. Come on, give me a hand."

Frowning, she put her arm around Ron and allowed him to lean into her. Ascending the stairs was slow, arduous work, but Ron's burns were a small discomfort compared to the knot in his stomach. The tension in his chest mounted with each step, until finally the stairwell suddenly gave way to the brilliant blue sky.

The floor had been repaired by Ron's spell, but the top of the tower still looked like a warzone. Chunks of stone lay everywhere, scorched here and there where spells had struck. The single wall was laced with cracks, indents, and burns. The cauldron remained unmoved at the opposite end of the tower, its evil reddish glow filtered out by the light of the newly risen sun. It seemed smaller, somehow less menacing, in the daylight.

"It's probably over-stewed," said Hermione quietly.

"We should . . . I don't know. Throw something in it. Just to be sure. That'll do it, won't it?"

Hermione nodded. Ron pulled her arm off from around his neck.

"It's okay." said Ron. She pursed her lips but did not protest.

He bent down and chose one of the stones that had been knocked from the wall during the fight, which lay small and still at Ron's feet. He tossed it in his hands for a moment, then stepped forward, raising his arm.

"Wait." said Hermione, behind him. Ron turned, his hand frozen in midair, the stone hovering inches from potion's blood red surface. "Wait." she repeated, more tenderly, and he let his arm fall to his side.

"What is it?" he asked. "Don't you want this done with?"

"I do, I do," said Hermione, "but I think there's something we need to do first."

She opened her hand, and there, glittering in her palm, lay the Resurrection Stone. Ron stood gaping at it for a moment, words momentarily lost on him. Hermione looked down with flushed cheeks.

"I thought Ginny had that thing. I thought - I thought she would have still had it." Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. "She dropped it, just before we left for here. I went back to look for it while you were asleep. I figured it'd be better than to let someone else find it and - well, to end up like Ginny did."

Ron hesitated, then nodded slowly. "So . . . you want to - "

"Destroy it. Let's toss it in that cauldron and Vanish the whole thing." said Hermione. Ron looked at her for a moment, and under his gaze she seem to feel the need to justify herself.. "It's not right, Ron. It can't really bring anyone back, not truly. No matter how much people want to see their dead friends or relatives, it can't ever bring them together again. So when someone gets ahold of the stone, and they use it often enough for a long period of time . . . eventually they just waste away. Like - like Ginny. And this stone couldn't heal her. She thought it could, she really did, but I don't think it's ever done anything but cause people more grief."

Ron's eyes found the rubble at his feet. He could not meet Hermione's gaze because in spite of the fact that there was sense and reason behind every one of her words, Ron had been holding a secret hope, deep inside of his chest, that he might remove the ring from Ginny' stiff fingers and see her alive again - or at least as close as the Stone could bring her to that state. But even as he pictured the scene in his mind's eye, Ginny's warm, joyful, solid figure turned ghostly and transparent; a somber imitation of the girl he knew.

"Ron," said Hermione quietly, and he knew by her tone that she had guessed what he was thinking. "If you used this stone again, she'd be sad, she wouldn't want to come. It'll do you more harm than good to see her like that."

"Yeah, but we didn't lose just Ginny tonight, did we?" Ron said, rather more loudly than he intended. "Harry! What about Harry? If Voldemort used him for this potion then he's a hell of a lot worse off than Ginny is! And Fred and Dumbledore and - Professor Flitwick and Hestia Jones and Cho Chang! What about them, Hermione? What if he used them, too? What if they don't even have a place to go after - after - "

"Ron, STOP!" Hermione cried.

Ron fell abruptly silent. He had not realized he had been shouting.

"I know you're angry!" said Hermione, moving close and taking his hand; tears sparkled in her eyes. "I am too! You think I'm not just as sad as you are about everything that happened tonight?"

Her gaze was burning, intense. Ron was still breathing very heavily, blood pounding loud in his ears, but he could not bring himself to answer.

Hermione went on, her whole body shaking: "Even if they did die, even if they weren't able to - to go on, if Voldemort used them - it doesn't matter! This ring wouldn't solve anything even if that wasn't true! Whether they can move on or not, as hard as it is to say, there is _nothing_ we can do for them any more! Just as there is nothing _they_ could possibly say that would make it any easier for _us_ to accept that they're gone! Death is hard, Ron, I know it is, but there's no easy way to get through it! Believe me, it'll get better. I promise. Maybe that pain won't go away, even after a while. Maybe it stays with you forever, but by then it's hardly even grief anymore. That's love. You hurt because you love them, and that's a _good _thing, Ron. Love is the most powerful thing we have."

There was nothing but the sound of wind and birds for a long moment.

"Just once." said Ron quietly. "Let's use it just one more time, to say good bye. Then we get rid of it for good."

Hermione gazed at him, all of the fire gone from her eyes, replaced with the look of kindness that Ron found so familiar. She looked at the ring, resting innocently in her palm. Then, almost imperceptibly, Hermione nodded. She held out her hands and folded Ron's around them. He closed his eyes. Together they turned the Stone three times over.

Ron knew, even before he had opened his eyes, that they were not alone. The strong wind whistling around the tower did not entirely mask the sound of bodies shifting on the crumbling stone, neither here nor there, not quite returned to life nor truly gone. Ron could feel Hermione pressed against him, moving, her head turning this way and that. Her breath was short and quick on his neck; she seemed too awed to speak. Slowly, blinking away the unwelcome light, Ron opened his eyes.

Around them stood a crowd of the dead. Dozens of translucent silhouettes encircled them, each one partially visible through the bodies of those in front of it. They did not speak, each one of them bearing the same sort of sad, half-smile. Ron turned, trying to take them all in at once. Although he recognized many (Cho Chang, Mad-Eye Moody, and even a somber-faced Malfoy were among this number), the faces that he was longing the most to see were absent from the crowd. Fred and Harry and Seamus, all missing; Lupin and Tonks and Dumbledore gone as well. But there, standing before the great cauldron, a few steps closer than the rest, was Ginny.

She was wearing the clothes in which she had died, but other than that, the Ginny before them bore little resemblance to the one they had known for the past year. Her face had regained a healthy glow, the hollows of her cheeks no longer sunken and the last trace of madness gone from her large brown eyes. Of all the dead surrounding them, Ginny was the only one that was smiling; truly, happily smiling, in a way that she hadn't in a year. The expression brought warmth to her whole face.

"Hi, Ron," she said. "Hi, Hermione."

Ron could not speak. Tears were blurring his vision, but he blinked them away. The sight of Ginny filled him up like a hot drink, and the void in his chest healed over and closed. There were a million things buzzing in Ron's brain, and all of them he wanted to share with her; to spend hours in her company, talking and laughing as they once had - and yet for some reason, Ron found himself at a loss for words.

"Ginny," Ron heard Hermione say, after what must have been a very long while. "Why are you - why are there so many of you here? Why are you all . . . ?"

Ginny kept smiling. She glanced around at the faces around her, at Colin Creevey and Professor Flitwick and Ron's uncle, Fabian Prewitt - a man he recognized only from aged photographs. They had eyes only for Ron and Hermione, grinning a little sadly, but their strange presence heartening nonetheless. It was Ginny who spoke for them.

"These are friends, relatives, loved ones . . . fighters. Every departed soul who's ever known or cared for you. We figured this would be the last chance to see you before you destroyed that ring, and a lot of people wanted to wish you well." Ginny grinned. "We've all been watching over you. All of us, all this time. We still will be, even when you can't see us any more."

Another silent minute passed in which Ron and Hermione looked around in wonder.

"But," said Ron, finally finding his voice. "Where's . . . where's Harry? And Fred, and Uncle Gideon? If - if everyone's here, then why - ?"

At this, even Ginny's smile faltered. The grin vanished from her face, and for the first time, she broke eye contact with Ron. Her gaze fell to the ground, and then she turned slowly to face the cauldron. Her translucent hand touched the rim, but slipped through like a wisp of smoke.

"He's here." She said sadly. "They're all here."

"But the potion wasn't used." said Hermione. "Can we . . . bring them back? Somehow?

"I don't know." said Ginny.

"Well, until we can figure it out, I'm not getting rid of that potion." said Ron.

Hermione turned to him. "Ron . . . we just talked about this."

"You know what I mean!" he said angrily. "They wouldn't be alive again, would they? They'd still be dead, but at least they'd still _exist._ And what about the kids, Hermione, what about the people who got the Dementor's kiss? What if there's a way we can - "

"No." said Ginny. "We need to destroy this thing. Now."

"But can't it - "

"Wait?" asked Hermione. Ron looked between her and Ginny in disbelief. "Ron, we don't even know if it's possible! Just figuring that part out could take years, and then after that we'd need to find a way to separate the potion's ingredients. We'd be taking apart enchantments Voldemort himself created, not to mention attempting to discover how on earth you're supposed to return someone's soul to their body! And in the meantime, it's incredibly dangerous to leave this potion the way it is. There are still Death Eaters that need to be captured, a lot of them ran off when Voldemort fell. If they - or anyone with the wrong intentions - managed to get their hands on this - "

"Two thousand people, Hermione! And they didn't just die - it was worse than that!"

"I'm just being realistic, Ron - "

"That's not why."

This time both he and Hermione turned to Ginny in confusion.

"Why, then?" said Hermione, a little breathless.

"Because," Ginny said slowly. She seemed to be having difficulty finding words that would accurately describe her train of thought. "We can't - we can't let ourselves waste away waiting for some slim chance they might be okay. I wish they were. I wish I could see Harry and Fred and everyone again. But I've already spent a year doing that - and look how I ended. I'm not going to make the same mistake again, and I ask that you don't do the same, Ron, Hermione. Sometimes . . . you've got to let people go, even if you love them. It's your choice to make, I won't stop you, but please. Think about what happened to me. Don't do the same thing I did. Just let them go."

Ron held Hermione's gaze for a long moment, his anger all but abated. For a long moment there was no noise; only them. He finally broke eye contact only to look down at the chunk of rubble he was still clutching in his hand. He was gripping it so tightly that the rock cut into his palm.

"Okay." Ron's voice sounded strange, alien, even to his own ears. "Okay."

All around them the dead were smiling their sad smiles, and tears were sparkling in Hermione's eyes again, and Ron felt as if his arm were made of lead as he raised it over the rim of the cauldron. His eyes found Ginny as the stone slipped from his fingers. Her head held high, she refused to weep.

The rock sunk beneath the potion's surface with a splash, vanishing instantly in the opaque liquid. Ripples circled the place where it had sunk, and then the ripples became waves, and the whole potion began to churn violently, spilling over the sides of the cauldron, forcing Ron and Hermione back. The crimson potion smoked and scorched the floor like lava, and with a great _whoosh _it caught fire all at once. Even in the thin new daylight the entire tower was awash with a bloody glow. The dead glinted like rubies, unmoving, unaffected by the smoke and flames.

Ron held Hermione tightly to him, both of them pressed against the tower wall and as far from the fire as they could get. For an instant Ron thought he saw beastly shapes flickering in the blaze, gone before he could even realize he was deluding himself. But no - there was no mistaking it - something was moving within the flames, shining even through the crimson light, distinctly _human_-shaped -

The waves of heat were distorting everything and his eyes were stinging red from soot, but Ron could not mistake the being that emerged from the fire. It was a boy; the ghostly pale image of a tiny boy, no older than twelve. He looked around at the fiery scene with confusion, turning several times on the spot; and then all at once his eyes locked onto something beneath them, which they could not see, and he vanished altogether right through the stone floor. No sooner than the boy melted away did a second being take his place, the form of a girl in her early teens.

Ron opened his mouth, astonished, and inhaled a lungful of ash. Coughing, eyes streaming, he looked at Hermione, desperate for an answer; yet her red eyes were as large as saucers, her confusion etched clearly in her face. Across the way, still standing beside the fiery cauldron, Ginny was no more than a blurry shadow against a background of chaos. He thought he could make out her voice over the roaring noise, but perhaps he was imagining her gleeful yells like he had the beasts in the fire.

Again and again these spirits came, faster now, more at once. Some of them vanished after a moment or two, shooting through the stone floor like it was nothing. Others looked around at the scene, found Ron and Hermione pressed against the wall, and nodded or smiled before taking a place among the crowd of the dead. More and more ghostly figures came and went and stayed. Then, all at once, a face appeared that Ron had been yearning to see.

"Fred!" He tried to shout, and he did not care about the smoke that filled his lungs. That was his brother, here again where he had not been previously, separated from Ron by a wall of fire that he could no longer feel. Hermione was pulling him back, keeping him away from the flames, but she could not stop him from locking eyes with Fred from across the tower. His brother nodded encouragingly, saying words Ron could not hear. He was smiling. They both were.

And as he began to recognize more and more of the faces which emerged from the flames, Ron began to understand what was happening. These were familiar souls that stepped forward and smiled. Tonks and Dumbledore and Ron's uncle Gideon - all smiling. All saved. Even the souls of the students had been recovered; which, Ron realized, must be moving towards their bodies as they left the tower. How many had already awoken in the Great Hall, suddenly and miraculously well? More souls appeared by the dozens, faster and faster, and the crowd around Ron and Hermione was now nearly a thousand strong.

Ron tore his eyes away from them to look at Hermione in disbelief. Realization had dawned on her face as well. They had done it. They had resolved to accept their casualties, and yet in this action they had saved them all.

Ginny's voice suddenly pierced the air, cutting over the noise of the flames, and through the smoke Ron saw her translucent silhouette move towards one of the souls that was emerging slowly from the flames. Even in the confusion, there was no mistaking the single word she shouted.

"HARRY!"

The two connected a moment later in a close embrace, the smoke and fire distorting their bodies so much that they could have been one being. It was not until the two finally broke apart that Harry truly looked around. His eyes lit up as they fell on Ron and Hermione. He and Ginny moved closer and their figures became more distinct; they were holding hands.

"We can't stay long!" Harry yelled, the noise still loud even though the souls were coming more slowly now, and the flames were beginning to peter out. "We have to go back. You need to destroy the stone."

"We know!" Hermione cried, her eyes full of tears.

"If you throw it into the fire, that should do it. You can do it, can't you?"

"'Course we can." Ron nodded.

"Good. Then this is goodbye."

"Yeah." said Ron. "It is."

Ron wanted very much to say something, anything, of meaning; but as always, words seemed to fail him when he needed them most.

"We're not leaving. Not really." said Ginny.

"Seems that way." Ron muttered.

"Well, it isn't." said Harry. "We'll still be with you; always have been. You just won't know it all the time."

"You'll be there?" Hermione asked.

"Every minute."

"All of you?"

"Everyone on earth who's ever cared about either of you."

"We'll still miss you." Hermione said, looking around at the faces of the dead that were slowly fading with the fire. "Every one of you."

"Don't worry." said Ginny. "It's not forever. When the time comes you'll see us again."

"I'm hoping that's not for a while." Ron said.

"It shouldn't be." said Harry. "You and Hermione - and your family and everyone else - you've got years and years of repose ahead of you. The war's done. I don't want to see either of you until you're good and ready."

"Excellent. I'm fought enough wars for one lifetime." said Ron.

Harry smirked. Like the flames behind him, his image seemed to be flickering.

"You know, it's not so bad." He and Ginny were stepping away.

"I'll take your word for it."

This time Harry's smile was sincere.

"Goodbye, mate." Ron said, and he tossed the Resurrection Stone into the fire.

For a moment the dead seemed to waver in the watery sunlight, and as the tiny ring glowed hot in the flames, they glimmered like sparks and then were gone. Just like that. All that remained were the charred black stones, scarred by the dying fire; the sound of Ron and Hermione's shallow breathing; and the diaphanous gauze that seemed to hover in the air, the ghostly memory of a thousand people that would never truly be gone.

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><p><strong>Whoo! Nearly done; you will get an epilogue, I promise. Until then, thanks for reading!<strong>


	20. Epilogue

**Harry Potter is Dead**

**Epilogue**

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><p>A light breeze blew across the shoreline, bringing the taste of salt in the air. High cliffs rose over crashing waves and turning sand; ancient boulders dotted the soft sea grass. The spot was wild, secluded, and as far from prying eyes as it was fiercely beautiful. The perfect place, in other words, for a gathering of wizards.<p>

A large silver tent, its ceiling hovering without the need for support, had been erected at the edge of the cliff, allowing for a spectacular view of the ocean below. Several dozen chairs had been placed in rows before a raised platform, which sat so close to the drop that a silver railing had also been conjured for safety. A second and third tent sat further behind the first, each slightly smaller and surrounded by walls. The second housed the caterer's kitchens; the third was shut tight.

Guests milled about in the space between, treading among lilies and bluebells surely placed there by magic. They chattered excitedly, an anticipative hush hanging in the air. Eyes darted towards the third tent; whispers drifted on the salty air, talk of silver gowns and true love.

Harry watched the guests from a slight distance, surveying the scene in relative seclusion. He had noticed, lately, that the living seemed much more lurid to him than he had once thought they were. To think that he had once moved so quickly, laughed so loudly . . . . Much had changed in the years since he had had any contact with them. He found the living hard to follow at times, their emotions strangely distant from him. But he was not so ancient that they were entirely incomprehensible - not yet, anyway. His ties with his loved ones were much too strong for that.

The faces of the living were starting to blur, and so Harry watched the dead for a moment. With their number included the crowd more than doubled in size; for nearly every happy guest there was a translucent silhouette following close behind, and still more chatting in their own little groups. Harry was glad to see that they smiled just as the living did.

"Why aren't you in the thick of things?" said a quiet voice behind him. Harry turned. Ginny was there, her smile kind, eyes warm.

"I don't know." Harry said, as she seated herself in the grass beside him.

"Nervous?"

"No." said Harry. "No, not that. I'm happy for them."

"I am too." Ginny said. "That's why _I_ was over there putting up with all the extended relatives, telling them _thanks for coming, it means so much that you're here_ in the nicest voice I can possibly manage whilst telling an outright lie."

Harry grinned sideways at her. "Are Ron and Hermione really that popular?"

"We've got at least four generations of Weasley cousins that've turned up just for today. It's mad."

"I'm assuming they've been keeping you busy until now."

"Yes and no, actually. Bunch of deadbeats, no pun intended. And don't laugh," Ginny added, as Harry struggled to hide his grin, "I'm angry with you! Fred and I've been the ones that've had to deal with them all morning, no help from you."

"I'm sorry." said Harry. "I didn't realize your relatives were so horrible."

"Hey, I didn't say that. They're all perfectly lovely, they just tend to get in the habit of repeating themselves. Old age, I guess. I've had about thirty great-great aunts come up and start telling me my brother Arthur is going to be so happy with 'that Prewitt girl.'"

Ginny grinned, but as she looked at him, it faded into a look of confusion. Perhaps there was something in Harry's smile that was not entirely authentic.

"That's . . . why you were up here, isn't it?"

"No! Sort of. No. Definitely no."

Ginny looked at him quizzically, an inkling of concern growing in her deep brown eyes. Harry flushed, feeling the need to explain, to justify himself.

"I mean, it's not like that. I can still remember faces and what year it is and everything. I haven't reached the point of no return just yet. It's just . . . "

"Bit too many people?"

"Yeah."

"I understand. It can be a bit overwhelming sometimes."

"It's not . . . _just _that." Harry rubbed his forehead in agitation, purely out of habit. "It's . . . I've been dead a bit longer than you have. It's hard to explain."

She looked at him with confidence and solidity, and he found himself melting under her gaze. "Try me." she challenged.

"I don't really know how." Harry said. "Everything just gets confusing sometimes. It's hard to describe beyond that."

"Confusing. How so?"

"The living seem . . . I dunno. Faster, louder, a little more complicated than I remember. Whenever I come to check on everyone, it's like I have to try extra hard to keep up."

Ginny's brow crinkled with sympathy. Her eyes were dazzling, ethereal.

"I feel like that sometimes too. Everyone does. Hell, just look at _them_." She waved at the crowd of the dead before them, shimmering with distance. "Wandering around without a clue whose party this is."

"Well, I'm not there yet. But it's been getting worse, though. Gradually, and not by much, but it is."

"I wouldn't expect it to be any other way. That's what happens, isn't it? When we get so ancient we can't understand what it's like to be alive any more?"

"It's only been a few years, Ginny. I haven't forgotten."

"Of course you haven't."

"So then why do I feel this way?"

"Don't shout." Ginny warned.

With a sigh, Harry let his muscles relax. He pulled Ginny close to him, relishing, as always, in the feeling of her body against his. They stayed still for a while, real and tangible, alive in a slightly different sense of the word.

"D'you think," Ginny said slowly, after a long while, when nearly all of the guests had found their seats, "That the living seem further away because they're starting to move on?"

"I don't know." Harry frowned, thinking. "I mean . . . it makes sense."

"Think about it." said Ginny. "We're tied to the people we love, right? We follow them, watch over them - "

"I wouldn't want to leave them even if I could." Harry cut in.

"Me neither! But think, Harry. Inevitably, at one point, there's going to be a time when there's no one left on Earth that we've ever loved, or even known. They'll be with us. By that point . . . maybe we'll be like my great-great aunts. They've got nobody here to look after. So, when they leave the company of the dead, they can't understand the living."

There was a lengthy pause while Harry digested this.

"If that's it," he said, "then I think it's good that it's happening."

Ginny's eyes softened, and her arms encircled him, and the pressure of her warm body was all he needed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please take your seats; we are about to begin!" said a magically magnified voice from the head of the nearby crowd.

Harry and Ginny both looked up in surprise; the voice had caught them off guard. Harry grinned and slipped his fingers between Ginny's.

"Come on," he said. "Today's for celebrating."

"Damn straight." said Ginny, and they laughed, though neither was quite sure what was so amusing.

They approached the crowd hand in hand, joining the larger throng of the dead as they pooled in back of the living, who had seated themselves beneath the silver pavilion. An aisle had been left open through the mass of people, adjacent with the one that ran through the marquee. All eyes were locked on the third, still closed tent.

Then, all at once, the tent's silver flaps rose of their own accord, revealing behind them a beautiful woman in a long, flowing gown. The crowd issued a collective sigh, and Hermione Granger beamed radiantly at them all, arm in arm with her father. They processed down the aisle, and she waved and smiled, a sheer composite of happiness; it seemed to be this, rather than the dress and the grin, which beautified her so substantially. Her eyes remained dead center, never breaking the gaze of one Ron Weasley. He stood on the podium at the front of the marquee, framed by the breathtaking cliff top view behind him, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was pale and taught with nerves; but he smiled broadly as well, looking at Hermione as if he had never seen anything more wonderful.

Harry watched them join hands at the altar, exchange a few whispered words. He realized he was grinning in spite of himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls . . . "

Harry found the voice of the presider drifting away from him as he looked on the happy scene. He found himself glancing around at the faces in the crowd, living and dead, drinking in their expressions like wine. Mrs. Weasley's cheeks were sparkling with tears; Mr. Weasley clutched her hand, though he kept removing it to wipe his eyes behind his glasses; Tonks and Lupin stood side by side, their eyes on baby Teddy, sleeping quietly in Andromeda's arms; Fred stood with his hands in his pockets, grinning sheepishly at the ground; Hagrid's reminiscences to the wizard beside him carried from the back row ( "Seems like jus' yesterday they wer' firs' years, bangin' on my door, wantin' ter know abou' the Sorcerer's Stone . . . Always knew they'd end up gettin' married, yeh could tell even then . . . " ); and, in the very back of the crowd, Dumbledore stood a little apart from everyone else.

Ginny, under his arm, looked up at Harry as he craned his neck away from the altar. Her eyes fell on Dumbledore, and then swiveled back around to meet Harry's gaze. Silently, Harry slipped his arm from around Ginny. He walked around the marquee, feeling the stares of the dead on him, but he only cared for that of one; Dumbledore, who nodded as Harry approached.

"I haven't seen you in a while." Harry said quietly, his eyes on the front.

"Indeed you have not." Dumbledore nodded. "Forgive me, Harry, but as an old, dead man I have lately been craving a bit of solemnity and solitude."

"Mm. You know, I think I'm starting to understand the appeal in that."

"Really? So soon?"

"The living are hard to understand."

"They are, indeed, to we who have been unable to relate to them for several years now. We are growing old, Harry." Dumbledore's lined face was full of mirth. Harry cracked a smile. "This sensation troubles you, I gather?"

"It's not bad. Not yet, anyway." He shook his head, determined not to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "It's not something that's bothering me. I talked to Ginny about it. I . . . I reckon it's a good thing."

"Assuredly it is." Dumbledore's tone was perhaps a little too understanding. "That is very wise of you, Harry, very wise."

"Don't go on about it. I haven't been dead as long as you have, I'm damn sure I don't even know the half of it."

"There is a certain truth in that as well." Dumbledore smiled. "I am nevertheless pleasantly surprised."

"Really. Surprised, are you?" Harry grinned.

"Oh, do not misunderstand; I really should have come to expect this sort of thing by now." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with jollity. "You have, time and time again, surpassed my expectations by a gratifyingly wide margin. Forgive me, Harry, if I am continually impressed by the astounding amount of maturity and sensibility you continually prove to possess."

Harry found himself reddening; he stared at the ground.

"Professor . . . " he muttered.

"Oh, come, Harry, I have not been your teacher - nor a teacher at all - for some time now. You are more than welcome to refer to me as Albus."

"Sorry . . . Albus. I wasn't thinking. Just a bit embarrassed."

"Quite all right, Harry, though there really is no need. On the other hand, your humility, as ever, is undoubtedly encouraging."

"That's good to hear."

Dumbledore clasped his hands together and looked out over the cliff, at the clear blue water and the wind-swept sand, no more than a thin golden ring between ocean and stone.

"Mortality has a funny way of humbling us, Harry." he said. "We are providentially cleansed of all the many petty honors or degradations we may have accumulated during our time on this earth. In death, we are all equals."

Dumbledore turned to look at Harry, who met his gaze for a moment. They stood in silence for a long while afterwards, each watching the wedding, but the inside of Harry's head churned like a stormy sea.

"Where have you been?" Harry said suddenly, perhaps a bit more accusatorily than he had meant to; but the childish question fell from his lips before he could stop it, and Dumbledore looked around with understanding in his features.

"That, Harry, is a question not easily answered - even for myself."

He did not bother to say more, and Harry bit his lip and faced front. He refused to allow himself to become angry; not today of all days. Dumbledore still looked at him even as he stared resolutely forward.

"I took a leave entirely of my own volition, I assure you; I have not been avoiding you or anyone else. I do hope you have not been vying for my company." Dumbledore said.

"No, it's been fine. I have a lot to keep me busy."

"You certainly do. The wedding of your two best friends, to name one important occurrence."

A smile broke on Harry's face, and he found his agitation at Dumbledore abating in spite of himself.

"I've been waiting years for today to happen. It's about bloody time."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, I quite agree. A happy occasion, is it not?"

"The best."

"Well, come then; let us not ruin their day with out chatter. Even if they can not hear us, I believe good manners are among one of few the things which do, in fact, carry over from life into death."

Harry laughed, and surely enough one of Ginny's deceased great-great aunts turned around and pressed her finger to her lips. He waved a sheepish apology.

"I should get going. It's been good talking to you again, Dumbledore." Harry whispered.

"I might say the same of you."

Harry nodded, grinning to himself, and took his leave. The ceremony was nearly at a close; Ron and Hermione's hands were intertwined. As he started back towards Ginny, who was craning her neck over the crowd, he stopped and turned back towards Dumbledore.

"Are you back for good? Or is this just a visit, or a goodbye or something?"

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "That, I am afraid, is neither here nor there."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he was not sure if he could have found a response even if he had not been cut off at exactly that moment. The crowd burst suddenly into thunderous applause; a shower of stars encircled Ron and Hermione as their lips met; Ginny was at his side, her hand in his; and Dumbledore waved, his blue eyes sparkling with the kind of life that can never truly be destroyed by death.

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><p><strong>YES! After more than a year of (thoroughly enjoyable) effort, I can officially close the book on this fanfiction. It's extremely relieving to be able to finally type that sentence out, I have to say, even though it's been excellent writing this. I'm looking forward to a new project after such a long while. But! Not before I ramble on a bit more about exactly how lovely it's been. <strong>

**First off, I'd like to thank all the people that helped me along the way; namely Kim, whose learned advice ensured that this story actually had an ending (I'm lousy with those). My reviewers, you've been lovely. Nothing speeds the writing process like a good batch of compliments. Many thanks to BrightWatcher and Briememory in particular for reviewing pretty much every chapter with nothing short of boundless enthusiasm. You're great, guys! And as always, to Jo, for making this all possible in the first place.**

**I also wanted to say that yes, I'm still in school, and yes, I have a lot to learn. The greatest thing about writing this story is that I've been able to read through the chapters I've written a year or more ago and actually watch my writing skills improving. It's the coolest thing. **

**So! As I've said before, I'm extremely grateful for all the nice things writing this fic has brought me, and I'm incredibly excited for whatever the hell I'm going to think up next. Thank you so much for putting up with me.**


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